Harry Potter and the True Story Re-Write
by MrCommentary
Summary: The original story you know & love but 99.9% of all sentences have been changed or altered. Think of it as "Wizard People, Dear Reader: The Novel" where some inspiration was taken. Any feedback - good or bad - would be greatly appreciated to see if you enjoy the concept. Thanks & enjoy! Now in Audiobook format! /watch?v ek-C6GYSDrg
1. The Boy Who Existed

**Harry Potter and The True Story Re-Write**

 **By J.K.W.M.P.Y. Trolling**

 **CHAPTER THE FIRST**

 **The Boy Who Existed**

Mr. and Mrs. Drubblesnort lived at number four hundred and eight, on a Private Drive, and were proud to say that they were perfectly normal thank you very much and have a cup of tea. They were the last people you'd expect to be caught up in any ongoings that were strange or mysterious, because they just didn't take kindly to such nonsense.

Mr. Drubblesnort was an executive of a firm called Gunnings, which made automatic hunting rifles. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, huge hands and a very large... well, let's not go there. Mrs. Drubblesnort was thin and pale and had nearly thrice the usual amount of neck, which had a lot of usefulness as she spent so much of her time peering over garden fences, spying on the neighbors and over stalls in public restrooms. The Drubblesnorts had an obese toddler called Bubba and in their estimation there wasn't a tubbier boy anywhere across Europe. All of the doctors they had visited were really concerned.

The Drubblesnorts had everything they ever wanted however, but they also withheld confidential information about their family, and their greatest fear was that somebody would uncover their secrets. If someone where to find out about the Potters, then that that someone would have to be killed off. Mr. Drubblesnort didn't think of himself as the murdering type and would prefer his family secret remained secret, but his acquaintances might say otherwise. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Drubblesnort's sister, but they hadn't chanced a meeting for quite a few years. In fact, Mrs. Drubblesnort pretended she didn't have a sister because her sister and her good-for-nothing hooligan of a husband were as un-Drubblesnort-ish as it was conceivable to be. The Drubblesnorts trembled to think what their peeps would say if the Potters arrived on the street. The Drubblesnorts knew that the Potters had a little rascal, too, but they by no means had ever seen him. This demon child was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Bubba mixing with a little terror like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Drubblesnort woke up on an uninteresting, gray Tuesday our story launches. There was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be afoot.

Mr. Drubblesnort sang to himself the theme song from The Sopranos as he picked out his most boring tie for work, "You woke up this morning, Got yourself a gun. Mama always said you'd be the Chosen One…."

Downstairs, Mrs. Drubblesnort gossiped away happily on the phone as she wrestled the hefty baby Bubba into his high chair.

None of them noticed a large pig flutter past the skylight.

At half past ten, Mr. Drubblesnort picked up his briefcase, smooched Mrs. Drubblesnort, and tried to give Bubba a big wet good-bye too but missed, because Bubba was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.

"You little monkey…" chortled Mr. Drubblesnort as he left the house still singing The Sorpranos theme to himself with a skip to his step: "You woke up this morning, The world turned upside down. Thing's ain't been the same, Since the Blues walked into town..." He got into his Humvee and backed out of number four hundred and eight unbeknown how true those words would be.

It was on the corner of the street that he first detected a sign of something abnormal — a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Drubblesnort didn't realize what he had seen — then he jerked his head out the window to look back behind him now. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of his Private Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. Where his eyes playing tricks on him as they do tend to do more often than he would like? It must have been a deception of the light, he thought. Mr. Drubblesnort blinked and continued to stared at the cat behind him. It stared back. Just then, BAM! Mr. Drubblesnort had smashed into a stopped car in front of him, completely crunching the trunk like an aluminum can. Of course he was just fine in his Humvee, but the poor little old woman needed an ambulance as her journey to the local grocery was cut short. The crash had shaken Mr. Drubblesnort and the cat was the last thing on his mind. After the police report, he drove onward toward downtown and thought of nothing except a large pile of bills he had yet to pay off at work. His company recently had a terrible quarter and there wasn't much money left to keep things afloat.

But on the outskirts of his private community, the bills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual mid-day traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed citizens about. People in cloaks. Mr. Drubblesnort couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He imagined this was some sort of stupid new fashion. He started singing to himself again and slapping his hands on the steering wheel, "But baby I'm one in a million, I've got that shotgun shine. Born under a bad sign with a blue moon in your eye." Honking the horn every so often to the tune. But his eyes continued to fall on these weirdos now standing quite close by. They were murmuring to each other. Mr. Drubblesnort was infuriated to see that some of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! How dare he! But then it struck Mr. Drubblesnort that there must have been some old rock & roll band in town —these people were obviously here for that… yes, that would be it. "Go back home you hippies!" he screamed out the window. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Drubblesnort arrived in the Gunnings parking lot, his mind back on his dreaded bills and at times, Tony Sorprano.

Mr. Drubblesnort always sat with his rear to the window in his office on the ninetieth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on the bills that morning. He didn't see the flying pigs swooping past in broad daylight, though some people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as pig after pig soared overhead. Yet still most of them had never seen the flying pigs and were not convinced when other pedestrians told them to look up. Mr. Drubblesnort, however, had a perfectly normal, pig-free morning. He fired five different people, he made several important telephone calls and shouted at his secretary when he ran out of coffee. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the street to buy himself a super-sized deluxe combo meal from his favorite fast food eatery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a cluster of them. He eyed them crossly as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uncomfortable. These hooligans were whispering to each other, too, and he couldn't see a single band name. It wasn't until his way back past them, clutching a bag containing a triple-decker candied-bacon cheeseburger, extra large chili fries, and a peanut butter shake, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's correct, that's what I heard —"

" — yes, their young lad, Harry —"

Mr. Drubblesnort grabbed his heart. Was he having a heart attack? Fear flooded him. And then blackness...

He awoke an hour later to paramedics reviving him on the sidewalk. Once he became alert, he got up and dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he realized he had left his lunch on the sidewalk. He put the receiver back down and twirled his mustache, thinking. No, he wasn't going to go back for it. Now, should he ring up his wife? Potter wasn't such an atypical name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure what his nephew's name was. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Hussain. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Drubblesnort; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her — if he'd had a sister like that… but all the same, all those individuals in cloaks…

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on paying bills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Watch where you're going!" he grouched, as the tiny old man stumbled backwards and fell with his head smacking the pavement. Mr. Drubblesnort just then realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset for being knocked to the ground, even when blood started trickling down the right side of his head. On the contrary, his blood-soaked face split into a wide smirk and he said in a squeaky voice, "My apologizes, my dear sir, for nothing could stand in my way today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About has had his last birthday! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy new holiday!"

And then the old man hugged Mr. Drubblesnort around the middle, kissed him on the mouth and walked off.

Mr. Drubblesnort stood rooted to the spot. He had just been manhandled by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled, confused. He hurried to his Hummer and set off for home, hoping that the senile old man was suffering from a concussion. Hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four hundred and eight, the first thing he saw—and it didn't improve his mood — was that tabby cat he'd spotted earlier that morning. It was now sitting on his mailbox. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Drubblesnort loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Drubblesnort wondered. He then picked up the newspaper lying on the driveway and swatted at the cat until it finally jumped off and scampered across the street. That'll teach you, he thought. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Drubblesnort had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Bubba had learned a new word ("Gimme!"). Mr. Drubblesnort tried to act normally. When Bubba had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, we've received several reports of flying pigs in the area today. Although pigs normally reside on farms and don't have wings, there have been hundreds of sightings of these flying pigs in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain what these so called 'flying pigs' in the sky could be." The newscaster did not sound convinced that he believed this report, but allowed himself a grin. "It is quite mysterious. But until there's an explanation, I guess Anne you'll have to fulfill your promise and go out with me for a drink!" He looked over to his fellow co-anchor while Anne looked back in disgust. "And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more pig storms tonight, Jim?"

Mr. Drubblesnort grabbed both sides of his armchair, frozen. Flying pigs? Bothersome cats? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And murmurs about the Potters…

Mrs. Drubblesnort came into the living room carrying two cans of beer and tossed one to Mr. Drubblesnort. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her, and thought it best if she were drunk first. He cleared his throat nervously as he opened his eighth one later in the evening. "Er — Petunia, dear — you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Drubblesnort looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said bitterly. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Drubblesnort mumbled. "Pigs… flying around… and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today…"

"So?" snapped Mrs. Drubblesnort "Lots of funny looking people live around here."

"Well, I just thought… maybe… it was something to do with… you know… her kind."

Mrs. Drubblesnort chugged her sixth beer a little faster now. Mr. Drubblesnort wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare, she's not drunk enough yet. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their youngster — he'd be about Bubba's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Drubblesnort with a hiccup.

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"

"Harry. Nasty, awful name if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Drubblesnort, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Drubblesnort was in the bathroom, Mr. Drubblesnort crept to the bedroom window and peered down into his front yard. The cat was back on his mmailbox. It was staring down the Drubblesnort's Private Drive as though it were waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did… if it got out that they were related to a pair of — well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Drubblesnorts got into bed. Mrs. Drubblesnort fell asleep quickly but Mr. Drubblesnort lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling and playing it all over in his mind. His final, comforting contemplation prior to falling asleep was that even if the Potters were caught up in all this nonsense going on, there was no reason for them to come in the vicinity of him and Mrs. Drubblesnort. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind… He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on — he yawned and turned over — it couldn't affect them…

Oh how very wrong he was…

Mr. Drubblesnort might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the mailbox outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of The Drubblesnort's Private Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor at first when two pigs swooped overhead, attacking the cat prey. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved to go to the bathroom on the Drubblesnort's flowerbed before heading back into its fixed position on the mailbox.

A man appeared moments later on the corner the cat had been surveying all night, emerged so abruptly and silently you would have figured he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen in the Drubblesnort's private community. He was tall, thin, very old, and near death, judging by his blank, tired stare and the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough that he tucked them under his rope-belt like a shirt. He was wearing lengthy robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and purple high-heels. His blue eyes were light and faded behind bunny-shaped spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked from when he had been punched in the face on two separate occasions as a child. This man's name was Schoolbus Dumbledoor.

Schoolbus Dumbledoor didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived on a street where everything from his name to his high heels was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something then suddenly looked up at the cat, which was staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "Aha! Got you."

He found what he was looking for inside his cloak and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun. He cocked the barrel, aimed at the cat, and pulled the trigger. Of course, with his old eyes he wasn't a very good marksman and missed the cat by 10 yards at least. The nearest streetlamp went out with a little pop. He pumped the barrel and pulled the trigger again — another lamp smashed into darkness. Twelve times he pulled the trigger, and twelve time he mistakenly hit streetlamps instead of the cat due to his poor aim. By the end the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat still watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Drubblesnort, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledoor slipped the shotgun back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four hundred and eight, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat with a sigh. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"One of these days I'll get you, Professor Hardcastle McCormick."

He turned to look at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was staring at a severely old-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, who said I did? I just never liked cats. I did not realize it was you until just before I sat down."

"Well I couldn't exactly watch the house all day as a human now could I? Someone would get suspicious." said Professor Hardcastle McCormick.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have stopped in on a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor Hardcastle McCormick sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no — even the Muggles have noticed the goings on. It was on their news." She thumbed back at the Drubblesnorts' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of flying pigs… Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Flying pigs down in Kent — I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledoor gently. "We've had nothing to celebrate for eleven years. Except of course when Pluto was demoted from planet status, obviously."

"I know that," said Professor Hardcastle McCormick irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being totally careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, some not even dressed, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledoor. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About died at last, the Muggles found out we've been lying to them all this time. I suppose he is really gone, Schoolbus?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledoor. "We had visual confirmation from one of our spies that he went into the house and never came out. We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a taco?"

"A what?"

"A taco. They're a kind of Muggle food I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor Hardcastle McCormick coldly, as though she hardly thought this was the moment for tacos. "As I say, even if You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About has died —"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About' nonsense — for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his self-appointed name: Voldémort." Professor Hardcastle McCormick cringed, but Dumbledoor, who was unsticking some taco meat between his teeth, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying ol' Mort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor Hardcastle McCormick, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, our pal Mort was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledoor calmly. "Voldémort had muscles I will never have."

"Only because you're too — well —noble to use the gym."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pompom told me she liked my new recipe for clam chowder."

Professor Hardcastle McCormick shot a sharp look at Dumbledoor and said "The pigs are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what they're saying? About why he's dead and gone? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor Hardcastle McCormick had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting in the cold all day. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledoor told her it was true. Dumbledoor, however, was choosing to eat another taco and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "Is that last night Voldémort turned up in God's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that they're — dead."

Dumbledoor bowed his head. Professor Hardcastle McCormick gasped.

"Lily and James… I can't believe it… I didn't want to believe it… Oh, Schoolbus…"

Dumbledoor reached out and patted her on the head. "I know… I know…" he said heavily.

Professor Hardcastle McCormick's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldémort's back somehow broke — and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledoor nodded glumly.

"It's — it's factual?" hesitated Professor Hardcastle McCormick. "After all he's done… all the people he's killed… he couldn't even kill a little defenseless baby? It's just astounding… of all the things to stop him… but how in the name of Harry H. Potter did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess." said Dumbledoor. "We may never know."

Professor Hardcastle McCormick pulled out a hot pink handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledoor gave a great yawn as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had no hands but six numbers; instead, little turtles were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledoor, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor Hardcastle McCormick. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to dump Harry off at his aunt and uncle's. They're the only peeps he has left now."

"You don't mean – you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor Hardcastle McCormick, leaping to her feet and pointing at number four hundred and eight. "Dumbledoor — you can't. I've been spying on them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this horrid son — I saw him slapping his mother around all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter to come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledoor firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a memo."

"A memo?" repeated Professor Hardcastle McCormick unbelievably, sitting down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledoor, you think you can explain all this in a memo? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous — a god — I wouldn't be shocked if today gets designated as Harry Potter Day — there will be books written about Harry — every youngster in our world will chant his name!"

"Exactly." said Dumbledoor, looking very seriously over the top of his bunny-shaped glasses. "It would be enough to corrupt any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all the riches and glamour until he's ready to take it?"

Professor Hardcastle McCormick opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes — yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledoor?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry somewhere in it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it —wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would never trust Hagrid with anyone's life Professor, but he was the only one in the area at the time," said Dumbledoor. "I had no choice."

Professor Hardcastle McCormick rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to speak again but then suddenly looked off towards the east, "— what was that?"

A high-pitched squeaky sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for the sign of the source; it swelled to a defanging tone as they both looked up at the sky — and a small tricycle, streamers and all, fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

But sitting atop the tricycle was a man almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed. But the ladies found him to be oh so wild — with long tangles of bushy black hair and beard that hid most of his face. He had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were made of full dolphin skins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledoor, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that child's tricycle?"

"Stole it, Professor Dumbledoor, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the tiny tricycle as he spoke. "One of der neighbor kids musta left it out in their front yard. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir — house was destroyed, but I got him out all right prior to the Muggles swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledoor and Professor Hardcastle McCormick both bent forward over the bundle of blankets and banded heads in the process. Inside, just visible, was a baby gorilla, fast asleep.

"Hagrid..." Chirped Dumbledoor.

"Oh, er, sorry sir, wrong one. Thar' we are now," Hagrid said as he swapped little bundles of blanket.

Hagrid pulled aside the top layer to reveal a tiny baby boy. Under a clump of jet-black hair, they could see a strangely shaped cut, like that of a smiley face : )

"Is that where —?" whispered Professor Hardcastle McCormick.

"Yes," said Dumbledoor. "He'll have that smiley face scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledoor?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well — give him here, Hagrid — we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledoor snatched Harry into his arms and turned toward the Drubblesnorts' house.

"Could I — could I say adios to 'em, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Harry threw up into his beard. Hagrid let out a howl like an injured wolf.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor Hardcastle McCormick, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"Sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, polka dot handkerchief and dabbing his beard. "I can't stand the smell. And with Lily an' James dead — an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles —"

"Yes, yes, it's all very depressing, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be exposed," Professor Hardcastle McCormick whispered, patting Hagrid delicately on the arm as Dumbledoor stepped up to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and rang the doorbell. Dumbledoor then quickly pulled up his long cloak above his knees and ran back towards the other two. When he pranced passed them he bellowed, "Run, you fools!" as he made his way for the tree line across the street.

"Well," said Dumbledoor after the other two finally caught up, "That's that. We've no business hanging around this dump any longer. We may as well get drunk and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I best get this trike away, destroy the evidence 'n all. G'night, Professor Hardcastle — Professor Dumbledoor, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid walked back to the tricycle and started peddling down the street; with a squeaky squawk it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you again soon, I expect, Professor McCormick. Say 3am, my place?" said Dumbledoor with a wink. Professor Hardcastle McCormick nodded and smirked in reply.

Dumbledoor turned and skipped back down the street. When he got to the end of the Private Drive he looked back and could just make out the silhouette of a tabby cat in the street. He could also just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four hundred and eight.

"Superior luck to you, Harry," he murmured. "You're going to need it." With that, Dumbledoor rose up on his tippy-toes and with three clicks of his heels, he was gone.

A gust of wind ruffled the trees of the Private Drive, which lay hushed and orderly beneath the dark sky, the very final place you would anticipate astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter pooped inside his blankets without waking up. With one small hand closed on the letter beside him, he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he needed a change, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time when Mrs. Drubblesnort would trip over him with a scream as she opened the front door to throw out the trash, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Bubba… He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the realm were holding up their glasses and saying in thunderous voices: "To Harry Potter — the boy who existed!"


	2. A Trip to the Zoo for You

**CHAPTER THE SECOND**

 **A Trip to the Zoo for You**

Practically ten years had elapsed since the Drubblesnorts had woken up to find their nephew on the front step when Mrs. Drubblesnort tripped over Harry landing face first in the bag of trash she was taking to the curb, but their Private Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the identical front garden and lit up the brass number four hundred and eight on the Drubblesnorts' front door; it crept into their living room, which was approximately precisely the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Drubblesnort had seen that fateful news report about the pigs, which was never fully explained by the way. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets — but Bubba Drubblesnort was no longer a baby. Today the many photographs still pictured a large blond boy but now resembling an overinflated beach ball. The room held no markings at all that an additional boy lived at the mannor.

Yes, our boy Harry Potter was still with the Drubblesnorts, asleep at the moment, but not for an extended amount of time. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her piercing voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now you little brat!"

Harry woke with a start. His aunt pounded on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her go back into the house. The sound of the frying pan being put on the heated flame soon came out the window and back across the yard. He pulled the coat he used as a blanket over his head again and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. He was given a task, a task to destroy a ring. He had been prancing through the forest with some friends on his way to a volcano when his aunt so rudely woke him up.

And just at this moment his aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Technically," said Harry.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after Bubba's bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Bub's birthday."

Harry groaned.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped back as she looked through the keyhole in the door.

"Umm… but of course."

Bubba's birthday — how could he have forgotten? Harry got quickly off of the haystacks he slept on and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his coat and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the small rickety old shed outback was full of them, and that was where he slept.

When he was half dressed he walked across the yard and into the house, yawning as he went into the kitchen. The room was overflowing with all of Bubba's birthday presents. It looked as though he had already opened some of them and had gotten the new 3D 75" LCD television he wanted, not to mention the latest smartphone or the gas-powered mini Ferrari go kart or for some reason, a Barbie Play Place set. Exactly why Bubba wanted a Barbie house was a complete mystery to Harry, as Bubba was very boyish and hated girls — though he would try to show off to them on occasion by punching random people. Bubba's preferred punching bag was Harry, but Bubba couldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast. Or was it because Bubba was awfully fat and slow? He did become out of breath rather quickly…

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark, cold shed, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old raggy clothes of Bubba's, and Bubba was about four times wider than Harry was. Harry had a skeletal face, knobbly knees, black hair, and neon green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Bubba had punched him in the face. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a smiley face. He had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.

"At The Great Circus Disaster where your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions!"

Don't go asking questions — that was the foremost decree for a quiet existence with the Drubblesnorts.

Uncle Vern entered the kitchen just as Harry was burning the bacon.

"You little screw up!" he barked, his way of a morning greeting.

About twelve times a week, Uncle Vern would walk in and shout things at Harry, most times about how he needed to clean up after himself. Harry must have had more spankings than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, he naturally left rooms that way — all over the place.

Harry was frying some toast in the bacon grease by the time Bubba arrived back in the kitchen after going to the bathroom. Harry always knew when Bubba was in the bathroom because of all the unpleasant noises that child makes, and the previous few minutes where no execption. Bubba looked a lot like Uncle Vern. He had a huge pink face, not a great deal of neck, beady little blue eyes, and thick blond locks that lay awkwardly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Bubba looked like a baby angel — Harry often said that Bubba looked like a pig in a wig.

Harry put the plates of burnt bacon and toast on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Bubba, in the intervening time, was counting his opened and unopened presents. His face fell.

"Seventy six?" he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here beneath this gigantic one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, seventy seven then," said Bubba, going crimson in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Bubba tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Bubba turned the table over, which he's done on many occasions before.

Aunt Petunia evidently scented peril too, because she said hurriedly, "And we'll purchase you another twelve presents while we're out today. How's that, Pumpkins? Twelve more presents. Is that all right?"

Bubba thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have eighty..."

"Eighty nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia. And then turned away and murmured, "When is this kid going to learn his math? Know what I mean, Vern?"

Uncle Vern chuckled.

"Oh." Bubba sat down heavily and grabbed the parcel from Aunt Marge. "Alright, as long as I get what's coming to me."

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Bubba!" He ruffled Bubba's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vern watched Bubba unwrap the new racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. "Who in God's name gave me a VCR?" Bubba spat as he threw the box against the wall.

He was ripping the paper off a gold Rollex when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both annoyed and troubled.

"Bad news, Vern," she said. "Mrs. Figg passed away last night. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

Bubba's mouth fell open in disgust, but Harry's heart began to soar. Every year on Bubba's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger joints, or the movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this. Harry did not feel sorry that Mrs. Figg kicked the bucket and was very relieved to know he never had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, or Tufty ever again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vern suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vern, she hates the boy. Everyone does. That senile old woman was the only one we could ever get to watch him."

The Drubblesnorts often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn't there — or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"You could just leave me here," Harry put in hopefully (he'd be able to roam the house in his underwear for a change).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"Yeah, I probably would blow the place up or something..." said Harry disappointingly.

"I suppose we'll have to take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "… and leave him in the car…"

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone…"

Bubba began to cry at full volume.

"Bubba dumbdumbs, don't cry, Mummy won't let him destroy your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I… don't… want… him… t-t-to come!" Bubba yelled between huge sobs. "He always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang — "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically — and a moment later, Bubba's finest comrade, Petes Polk, walked in with his chauffeur. Petes was a scrawny boy with a pointed face like a rat and came from one of the richest families in town. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Bubba hit them. Bubba stopped his fake crying at once.

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck that Mrs. Figg died, was sitting in the back of the Drubblesnorts' car with Petes and Bubba, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they'd left, Uncle Vern had taken Harry aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm cautioning you at this time, boy — any funny business, anything at all — and you'll be locked in that shed from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "really…"

But Uncle Vern didn't believe him. No one ever did.

The predicament was, bizarre things often happened in the vicinity of Harry and it was just no good telling the Drubblesnorts he didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was practically bald except for his bangs, which she left "to hide that horrifying scar." Bubba had giggled himself stupid at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy patched clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, he got up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been locked in the shed for a week for this, even though he had attempted to enlighten them that he couldn't give any details on how it had grown back so rapidly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old sweater of Bubba's (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to drag it down over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great displeasure, Harry was punished with eight lashings since he was the one who always did the laundry.

He had also gotten into dreadful trouble for being found in the girl's bathroom. Bubba's posse had been hunting him as customary when all of a sudden, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting in the girl's stall, with a girl in it. The Drubblesnorts had received a very angry letter from Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been peeping in on the girls. But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vern through the locked door of his shed) was dive behind the big trash cans outside the school's kitchen. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump and pushed him through the bathroom window.

But on the present day, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Bubba and Petes to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his tiny shed, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vern complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was golden rings.

"… ugh, I can't get my ring off my finger Petunia. It rips up the shifter. Why is it even customary to wear these stupid things?" he said, as he tried yanking it off his hand almost taking his whole finger off.

"I had a dream about a magic ring," said Harry, suddenly remembering. "It made me invisible."

Uncle Vern turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "THERE"S NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC, BOY!" Just then they smashed into the stopped car in front of them.

Bubba and Petes sniggered.

"I know," said Harry. "It was only a dream... I think."

But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Drubblesnorts hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas.

After settling things with yet another police report, they finally arrived at was ended up being a very sunny Saturday spring at the zoo. The Drubblesnorts bought Bubba and Petes large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, just as the smiling lady asked Harry what he wanted, Vern stepped in and said the little snot doesn't deserve any. Harry was awfully hot in the sun after this, and licked his lips as he watched Bubba and Petes eating their ice cream who in return watched a monkey scratch its head. Bubba then complained he was hungry, even though he had half an ice cream cone left.

After lunch where Harry still wasn't allowed to eat, they went to the Big Cat country. It was a combination of indoor and outdoor viewing points. Due to the heat, the party decided best to head for the indoor section which was a series of dark, cool hallways with various glass paneling that let you view into the exhibits. Behind the glass, all sorts of tigers and lions were amusing zoo guests though mainly just relaxing in trees and on rocks. Bubba and Petes wanted to see huge, man-crushing tiger and Bubba quickly found the biggest tiger in the place. It could have crushed Uncle Vern's car no problem if it wanted to — but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Bubba stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening striped coat.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vern pounded on the glass, but the tiger didn't budge.

"Do it again," Bubba commanded. Uncle Vern slapped and kicked and beat the glass so hard, a bit of blood started to seep off his hand and onto the glass, but the tiger just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Bubba groaned. He shuffled away.

Harry sidestepped in front of the big pane of glass and squinted intensely at the cat. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself — no companionship apart from stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a decomposing shed as a bedroom, where the only sightseer was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the residence.

The tiger suddenly opened its beady eyes. Gradually, very gradually, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's.

It winked.

Harry was flattered. Then he looked rapidly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He looked back at the tiger and winked, too.

The tiger jerked its head toward Uncle Vern and Bubba, then raised its eyes to the sky. It gave Harry a look that said quite obviously:

"It's constant shenanigans like that around here, kid."

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the tiger could hear him. "It has got to be really really annoying."

The tiger nodded forcefully.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.

The tiger moved its head towards a little sign next to the glass. Harry gazed at it with interest.

Bengal Tiger, India.

"Was it pleasing there?"

The big cat put its paw over its head and looked down. Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I get it — you've never been to India?"

As the tiger shook its head, a boisterous yell behind Harry made both of them leap. "BUBBA! OLD MAN DRUBBLESNORT! COME AND GAZE UPON THIS TIGER! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Bubba came waddling toward them as promptly as he could.

"Out of my way, you," he said, heaving Harry to the side. Caught by surprise, Harry did not land on his feet and fell hard to the concrete floor. What came subsequently after that happened so swiftly that no one saw how it happened — one second, Petes and Bubba were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harry sat up and struggled for breath; the glass face of the tiger's cage had vanished. The great cat leaped out onto the floor. People throughout the hallway screamed and started running for the way out.

As the tiger swiftly pranced past him, Harry would have sworn under oath a low purring voice said, "Indiana, here I come… Prrrrrisons cannot hold me! Thanks, comrade."

The keeper of the Cat House was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "Why is the glass gone? Where did it go?"

The zoo boss himself made Aunt Petunia a strong, strong cup of coffee (with a pinch of vodka) while he apologized over and over again. As far as Harry had seen, the tiger hadn't done anything except rub playfully at Bubba's bulging tummy as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vern's automobile, Bubba was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his head, while Petes was swearing it had tried to roar him to death. But most terrible of all, for Harry at least, was Petes calming down enough to say, "Harry was chatting with it, weren't you, Harry?"

Uncle Vern waited until Petes was securely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so mad with rage he could hardly converse. All he managed to say was, "GO — SHED — WAIT — NO MEALS," before he collapsed into a chair and fainted from low oxygen. Aunt Petunia had to run and get some smelling salts and a large brandy.

Harry was relaxing in his dark shed much later, wishing he had a timepiece. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Drubblesnorts were slumbering yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking into the kitchen for some nourishment.

He'd existed with the Drubblesnorts for almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had died in that circus disaster. He couldn't really remember being in the circus tent where it all went down, but his aunt claimed he was. Sometimes, when he strained his memory really hard during long hours in his shed, he came up with a bizarre visualization: a blinding flash of green light and a fiery pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was some sort of explosion that startled the elephants which trampled his parents, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle by no means spoke about them, and of course he was prohibited from asking questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the Drubblesnorts were his only kinfolk. Yet sometimes he contemplated (or maybe just hoped) why strangers in the street seemed to know him somehow. Very weird and wonderful strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had kissed him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Bubba. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything whatsoever. A super old woman dressed all in bright yellow had frantically waved at him once from a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually taken a selfie with him in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to disappear the instant Harry tried to get a closer look.


	3. Letters From No One In Particular

**CHAPTER THE THIRD**

 **Letters From No One In Particular**

The Bengal Tiger Break-Out earned Harry his longest-ever castigation. By the time he was permitted out of his shed again, the summer holidays had begun and Bubba had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, during his first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg's gravestone as he tore through the local graveyard.

Harry dreaded the fact that school was over, since now there was no escaping Bubba's gang, who visited the house each and every day. Petes, Denny, Mally-Boy, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Bubba was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, and was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Bubba's favorite hobby: Harry Hunting.

This was why Harry spent as much time as achievable out of the house, wandering around and dreaming about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his existence, he wouldn't be with Bubs. Bubba had been accepted at Uncle Vern's old private school, Smellington. Petes Polk was going there also. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Sir William G. Igot High School, the local public school. Bubba thought this was very funny.

"They cram people's heads down on toilets the first day at Igots," he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Harry. "That poor toilet's already had enough with your big butt sitting on it every day." Then he ran before Bubba could work out what he'd said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Bubba to London to procure his Smellington garb, leaving Harry at home with Uncle Vern. He wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out he'd broken his leg in yet another car accident a few weeks back, and now locked himself in his study with three bottles of brandy. So this gave Harry the opportunity to watch television and sneak a bit of chocolate cake.

After sundown, Bubba paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smellington boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, blue suspenders, and ragtime straw hats called boaters. They also carried meter sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Bubba in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vern said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life, far better than his wedding day. Aunt Petunia ruptured into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Little Bubbakins, he looked so beautiful and grown-up. Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He was busy holding his ribs back from trying not to laugh.

There was an ungodly smell in the kitchen the subsequent morning when Harry went in for firstmeal. It seemed to be coming from a large rusty-metal tub in the sink. He went to have a gander. The tub was full of what looked like old dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. Her right eye rose as if he dared to ask a question.

"Your fresh school uniform," she said.

Harry looked in the basin again.

"Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so… dreary."

"Don't be foolish," Aunt Petunia yelled as she backhanded Harry across the check. "I'm dying some of Bubba's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've concluded."

Harry, rubbing his now reddening check, seriously doubted this but thought it best not to argue otherwise there would be more lashings in his future. He sat down at the table and tried to ponder on how he was going to look on his first day at Igot High — like he was wearing bits of old rhino skin, probably.

Bubba and Uncle Vern came in, both covering their noses because of the stench from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vern opened his daily tabloid as usual and Bubba banged his meter stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Bubba," said Uncle Vern preoccupied in a nasty story involving a CEO and the Royal Family.

"Make Harry fetch it, like the dog he is."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"No, make Bubba get it. He needs his daily bending over exercise."

"Whack him with your meter stick, Bubba."

Harry took a full blast right in the forehead and before Bubba could wind up again, he went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from a Nigerian prince who needs Uncle Vern's help, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Harry.

Harry picked it up and ogled it a bit, his heart now beating like big brass band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had ever written to him. Who would and why? He had no friends, no other relatives — he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

To: His Excellency The Honorable Master Harry H. Potter, Heavy Weight Champion of the World

The Shed in the Backyard

408 Private Drive

Balls Cross

West Sussex

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in shiny emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling violently, Harry saw a red wax seal bearing a coat of arms; an elephant, an eagle, a donkey, and a kitten surrounding a large letter H.

"Speed it up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vern from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for anthrax?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Harry went back to the kitchen, not taking his eyes off his letter. He tossed Uncle Vern the bill and the postcard, sat down, and little by little began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vern ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and then turned to the postcard.

"Oh! Get this! The Prince of Nigeria needs our help," he informed Aunt Petunia. "He will reward us greatly if we just send him a small loan from our bank account to …"

"Dad!" said Bubba suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"

Harry was at the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vern.

"That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vern, shaking the letter open with one hand and plopping a rather large donut in his mouth with the other. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds he spit out the wad of donut and it sprayed all over the kitchen in every direction.

"Oh God! P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Bubba tried to seize the letter to read it, but Uncle Vern held it elevated out of his reach. Aunt Petunia curiously read the first line. She fainted to the floor, but woke up a moment later.

"Vern! Oh my goodness — Vern!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Bubba were still in the room. Bubba wasn't used to going unnoticed. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his meter stick.

"I demand you let me read that letter," he said stridently.

"I want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it _is_ addressed to me."

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vern, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Harry didn't move.

"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted.

"Let me see it!" commanded Bubba.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vern, and he subsequently took both Harry and Bubba by the shirt and pants and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Bubba promptly had a furious slapping fight over who would listen through the keyhole; Bubba prevailed, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

"Know what this means, Vern?" Aunt Petunia was saying in a trembling voice. "Look at the address — how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You think they're watching the house?"

"Watching — spying — probably following our every move," muttered Uncle Vern wildly.

"But what are we supposed to we do, Vern? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want —"

Harry could see Uncle Vern's tiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll pay no attention to it. If they don't get an answer… Yes, that's best… we won't do anything…"

"But —"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we vow when we took him in we'd stamp out that treacherous nonsense?"

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vern did something he'd by no means ever done before; he visited Harry in his shed.

"Where's my letter?" said Harry, the instant Uncle Vern had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?"

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vern shortly. "I have destroyed it."

"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, "It had my shed on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vern has he backhanded Harry across the mouth. He took a few profound breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"It was meant for the boy who lives in the shed a few houses over. And er — yes, Harry — about this shed. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you're really getting a bit big for it… we think it might be nice if you moved into the basement next to the water heater.

"Why?" said Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" His uncle slapped Harry across the face again. "Take this stuff down there now."

The Drubblesnorts' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vern and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vern's sister, Marge), one where Bubba slept, and one where Bubba kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. Being that there was no place for Harry to go, moving into the unfinished basement seemed the only logical place for him. It only took Harry one trip downstairs to move everything he owned from the shed to this new abode. He sat down on the hay he brought in for a bed and looked around him. Nearly everything down here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of the Ferrari go kart Bubba had driven over the next door neighbor's dog with and killed it; in the corner was Bubba's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when he lost at one of his video games; there was a large dogcage which had once held a bulldog that Bubba had swapped at school for a real air rifle. All over the floor, too, where piles of dirty laundry that Harry would have to wash the next day.

Harry stretched out on his hay bed and exhaled noisily. Yesterday he'd have given anything to have a room inside. But today, he'd rather be back in his leaky shed with that letter than down here without it, even with it was pouring rain outside currently.

Next sunrise at breakfast, everyone was rather silent. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and in deep regret he hadn't opened the letter in the hall or shove it down his pants for later reading. Uncle Vern and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vern made Bubba go and get it. They heard him banging things with his meter stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! 'His Excellency The Honorable Master Harry H. Potter, Heavy Weight Champion of the World, The Basement, 408 Private Drive —'"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vern leapt from his seat and barreled down the hall, Harry right at is rear. Uncle Vern tackled Bubba to the ground and grabbed the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vern around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the meter stick, Uncle Vern straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your shed — I mean, the basement," he wheezed at Harry. "Bubba — go and get daddy's shotgun."

Harry walked round and round in the basement. Someone knew he had moved out of the shed and they seemed to be aware he hadn't received his first letter. That meant he was clearly being spied on. Certainly that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure they didn't fail. He had a plan.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry smacked it off quickly and dressed noiselessly. He mustn't wake the Drubblesnorts. He tiptoed upstairs without turning on any of the lights.

He was going to wait it out for the postman on the corner of the Private Drive and get the letters for number four hundred and eight first. His heart pounded as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door —

"AHAAAA!"

Harry leapt into the air; a shotgun pointed straight as his face!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that Uncle Vern had been sitting to the side of the front door which what looked like had been all night, making sure Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and bring back a bottle of brandy. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vern's guarded territory. Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink.

"Give me —" he began, but Uncle Vern threw the letters to the floor and shot them three times with his shotgun, obliterating all traces of them.

Uncle Vern didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home to nail up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, know what I mean Vern?"

"Oh, these people's minds work in mysterious ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vern, trying to knock in a nail with the butt of his shotgun.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been shoved under the door and slotted through the sides.

Uncle Vern stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "If I Only Had A Brain" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way into each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vern made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in the garbage disposal.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Bubba asked Harry in bewilderment.

"Who says they're from Earth?" Harry responded.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vern sat down at the breakfast table looking exhausted and rather sick, but happy nonetheless.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers.

Just then something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Drubblesnorts ducked, but Harry leapt into the air attempting to catch one. As Harry was never any good at sports, always being the one picked last, it was no surpise to him when he failed to reach out and grab one —

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vern drop-kicked Harry into the hall. Then Aunt Petunia and Bubba ran out with their arms over their faces. Uncle Vern slammed the door shut behind them. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That's it!" said Uncle Vern, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts of hair from his head at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to depart. We're going away! Just pack clothes – a week's worth. No! More! And No squabbling!"

He looked so dangerous now with budging death eyes that no one dared argue. Twenty minutes later they had axed their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Bubba was sniffling in the back seat; his father had wacked him round the head for holding them up when he tried to pack his television, DVD player, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vern would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

"Shake 'em off… gotta, gotta shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink or go to the bathroom all day. By nightfall Bubba was crying. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he wanted to see, he peed in a bottle Uncle Vern had tossed back to him, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vern stopped at last outside a sketchy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Bubba and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Bubba soon snored causing Harry to stay alert, so he sat on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing automobiles and wondered…

They ate stale cornflakes and burnt toast for breakfast the next day, and had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you considerd to be the Heavy Weight Champion of the World? I got about a 'undred of these at the front desk."

He held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

To: His Excellency The Honorable Master Harry H. Potter, Heavy Weight Champion of the World

Room 16

Bates Motel

Cokeworth

Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vern knocked his hand out of the way. The man stared.

"I'll take the lot," said Uncle Vern, igniting his lighter and following the man from the dining room with a smirk.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested hours later, but Uncle Vern refused to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a swamp, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, but the rest of the family had to get out and push since they were now stuck in the mud. The same sort of thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Bubba asked Aunt Petunia late that afternoon. "Yes sweetums," she replied. Uncle Vern had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to hail. Great big chunks of ice beat on the roof of the car and began to put tiny dents in the hood.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "Montel's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday — and you could usually count on Bubba to know the days the week because of television — then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly pleasurable — last year, the Drubblesnorts had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vern's old socks. Still, you don't get those every day.

Uncle Vern was back and he was grinning hysterically.

"Found the most wonderful place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car, but the hail had just begun to let up. Uncle Vern was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine, well second most miserable after the shed Harry was used to staying in. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vern gleefully, rubbing his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his yacht!"

A toothless old man came limping up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vern, "So all aboard!"

It was beyond freezing in the boat. Icy sea splashes and pouring rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what had to have been many hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vern, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down dwelling.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of dead whale, the wind whistled through great gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

"Whoa!" Harry said stepping inside. "This place is a palace compared to what I'm used to."

Uncle Vern's "rations" turned out to be a bag of banana chips and four prunes. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Now, where are those letters when you need them, eh?" he said hysterically.

He was in a very fine mood. Noticeably he assumed that nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry faced facts and agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.

As nighttime fell, the storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves pounded the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the mucky windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Bubba on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vern went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry was left to his own to find the best bit of floor he could curl up on and was given the thinnest, most ragged sheet.

The storm raged more and more violently as the night went on. Harry couldn't take it. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his belly rumbling with starvation. Bubba's snores were drowned by the loud crack of thunder. The glow-in-the-dark hand of Bubba's Rolex, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Drubblesnorts would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although it might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house on the Private Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the ocean, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that curious crunching clatter outside? Was the foundation crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… nine — maybe he'd wake Bubba up just to annoy him — three… two… one…

BANG.

The whole shack shivered and Harry scampered across the room then stared at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.


	4. The Master of the Arts

**CHAPTER THE FOURTH**

 **Master of the Arts**

BANG. Another whack to the door. Bubba frantically looked around, now awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

Uncle Vern came skidding into the room but couldn't stop as he fell into one of the side walls knocking himself down. Harry was surprised the feeble wall didn't give way and send him into the ocean just outside. Uncle Vern got up, he was holding his shotgun in his hands.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I'm forewarning you — I'm packing heat!"

There was an awkward silence moment. Then —

SMASH!

The door was hit with such strength that the hinges popped clean off the wall and sent the door crashing to the floor.

A monster of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was more or less completely concealed by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Er, um. Sorry about your door there. Don't know me own strength," he said with a mighty chuckle.

He strode over to the sofa where Bubba sat frozen with fear.

"Bulked up a bit, didn't you? Well no matter, we'll take yeh all the same Harry," said the stranger.

Bubba squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vern.

"Wait... I'm Harry," Harry said.

"Oh, er, Harry! Course it's you. An' mighty glad to see yeh ain't as big as tubs over der," said the giant.

Harry looked up into the violent, untamed, obscure face and saw that his eyes were twinkling like a clear night sky.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a lit'le baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's hands."

Uncle Vern made a funny noise.

"I command that you go away at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Drubblesnort, yeh great tub of lard," said the giant; he reached out and jerked the gun out of Uncle Vern's hands, pointed it back at him and ordered the lot into the corner of the room.

"And I don't want no funny business, yeh hear! Or else." He then bent the gun into a funny little V shape like it was nothing. Uncle Vern made another funny noise, like a mouse being squashed.

"Anyway — Harry," said the giant, turning his back on the Drubblesnorts, "A very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll still taste good all the same."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside were three large stinking, bloody slabs of what looked like meat and a little card that said 'Happy Birthday Harry'.

"Dat's raw Diricawl meat dat is! Mighty hard to come by nowadays, but when I saw it in der Forrest I just had to kill sum fer yeh Harry," he said while swishing Harry's hair.

Harry looked up at the giant. He didn't want to say thank you, as he wasn't exactly pleased with his present, but what he said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Master of the Custodial Arts and Head Sanitation Officer at Hogwarts."

He swelled his chest and pounded it hard after he said this.

Hagrid's eyes soon fell on the sad-looking fireplace with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He stooped downward over it; no one could see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was an impressive roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with sparkling light and Harry felt the intense heat wash over him as though he'd just had his eyebrows singed off.

The giant sat down on the sofa, which collapsed under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquor that he took a swig from before starting to make tea.

"Now den, let's makes us sum Diricawl meat!" Harry indifferently agreed.

Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling meat on the open flame. The stench of the raw meat was eventually replaced with a sweet, salty smell that reminded Harry of Aunt Petunia's fried onions. Nobody said a thing while the giant worked, but as he slid the first fat, juicy, slightly burnt slab from the poker, Bubba squirmed a little. Uncle Vern said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Bubba."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Drubblesnort, don' worry."

He passed the slab to Harry, who was so hungry he had never tasted anything so wonderful, even though on a normal day it wasn't anything to write home about. As he ate, he couldn't take his eyes off the giant. Finally, as it looked like nobody would care to explain anything, he said as he chewed, "My apologies, but I still don't understand who you are or what on earth is going on."

The giant took another big swig of the amber liquor and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"They labeled me Hagrid," he said, "An' I already told yeh, I'm Master of the Custodial Arts at Hogwarts — yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"I have no clue what that is. I don't own any pigs, if that's what you mean. I'm quite confused by all of this," said Harry.

Hagrid looked taken aback.

"What?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Drubblesnorts, who cowered back into the shadows. "Drubblesnort, by the time I'm done with yeh, yeh wish yeh nevern been born. Wouldn't even tell ya abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents acquired all their knowledge?"

"Knowledge about what?" inquired Harry.

"ABOUT WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one jiffy!"

He had jumped to his feet. His annoyance he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Drubblesnorts were trembling against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Drubblesnorts, "That this boy — The Chosen One! — knows nothin' abou' — about ANYTHING?"

Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't all failing. He got a C+ in English once.

"I know some things," Harry said. "I can read, I can write some."

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "Regarding our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"Earth?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DRUBBLESNORT!" he boomed.

Uncle Vern, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "It's the devils work!" Hagrid stared wildly at Harry.

"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're a bit of a celebrity. You're a celebrity."

"What? My — my mom and dad were famous?"

"Yeh have no idear… yeh have no idear…" Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair a few times then tied it in a bun, all the while fixing Harry with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' even know what yeh are?" he said finally after getting his man-bun in place.

Uncle Vern unexpectedly discovered his voice.

"Halt!" he commanded. "Halt right there, good sir! As the boy's legal guardian I forbid you to tell the boy anything or I'll see you in court!"

A smarter man than Vern Drubblesnort would have backed down under the furious look Hagrid now gave him as he approached; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"YOU NEVER TOLD HIM?"

Hagrid threw a punch at Uncle Vern's face and hit him square on the jaw.

"Never told him what was in the memo Dumbledoor left fer him?"

Another punch.

"I was there!"

WHAM!

"I saw Dumbledoor leave it!"

WHAM! With is other arm.

"An' you've kept it from him all these years?" the giant said now shaking Uncle Vern with both arms.

"Kept what from me?" said Harry excitedly.

"No... stop... I forbid you..." mumbled Uncle Vern in his weakened state, now clearly in a daze.

Hagrid gave him a stiff upper cut, sending Uncle Vern flying into the ceiling and then collapsing passed out onto the floor.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads off, all of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry — yer a wizard."

"I'm a what?" gasped Harry.

"A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the broken sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' superior 'un, I'd say, once yeh've been taught up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, yer bound to be the best there is! An' I deem it's abou' time yeh examine yer letter."

Harry expanded his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to His Excellency The Honorable Master Harry H. Potter, Heavy Weight Champion of the World, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Like Tomfoolery

Headmaster: SCHOOLBUS DUMBLEDOOR

(By Order of Merlin: Third Class, Grand Sorcerer in Chief, Supreme Muggle Converter, Board Member of International Confectionary for Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are just so tiddlywinked to notify you that you have been granted access to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Like Tomfoolery. Please locate the enclosed catalog of all required books and gear.

Term begins on September 1. We await your pig by no later than July 31 or you will be automatically expelled.

Have a magical day,

Hardcastle McCormick

Second-in-Command Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Harry's head and actually began to make it hurt. He couldn't make up his mind which to ask first. After a moment he inquired, "What does it mean, they await my pig?"

"Holy Hogwarts Harry, that reminds me!" said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with sufficient strength to knock over an automobile, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled out a pig — a real, live, squealing pig — a long feather quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, he scribbled a note that Harry had some trouble reading upside down:

Dear Mr. Professor Dumbledoor Sir,

Presented Harry with his letter.

Kidnapping him from the Drubblesnorts to purchase his things tomorrow.

Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.

Hagrid

P.S. Drubblesnort's a blockhead.

Hagrid rolled up the note, shoved it up the pig's snout, went to the door, and threw the pig out into the storm. He then came back and sat down as though this was all perfectly normal.

Harry realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"I'm sorry, but could you explain all that?" Harry asked.

"Hum? Oh about the pig business?" Hagrid replied as Harry nodded. "Well you see, pigs is a mighty magical creature. 'Course mos' Muggles don' see their true potential. All pigs got wings, yeh see. Jus can' see 'em or feel 'em. Us magic folk though, we realized this hundreds of years ago, and have bin trainin' them ter deliver our mail ever since. These 'normal' pigs you see on pig farms and such, they still got their wings, but not trained, yeh see. Tha's why they all just don' fly away. Pigs is inherently dumb, but got an excellent sense for direction."

Harry nodded again, but with a confusing stare.

"Now den, where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vern, now blood-faced awoke from what should have put him in a deep coma.

"He's not going," he said out of breath.

Hagrid grunted.

"Drubblesnort, shut your Muggle pie hole," he said.

"Muggle?" said Harry, interested.

"Muggles," said Hagrid, "It's what we call the lesser race. Or er um... nonmagic folk like them. An' it's your ghastly fortune yeh grew up with relatives who o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took him in, gave him food, clothing, and shelter, we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vern, "Swore we'd crush it out of him! Wizard indeed!"

"You were aware?" said Harry. "You were aware I'm a — a wizard?"

"Aware!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Aware! Of course we were Aware! How could you not be with my twin sister being what she was? Oh, she got a little letter just like that and moved out to that 'school'" (She did the air quotes) "And came home every holiday with her pockets full of mischievous concoctions, turning my dolls into rats and whatnot. It was the devil's work! I saw her for what she was, a freak! And so did our parents. They were so ashamed of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It was as though she had wanted to say this for years, as if she memorized and practiced this in the mirror each and every night.

"After Lily was kicked out of our house, she met that little monster Potter kid at school and they ran off, got hitched and had you, not in that order. And of course I knew you'd be similar, just as strange, just as abnormal — and then, God knows she deserved it, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Harry had gone very white. So much new information it made his head hurt. He said, "Blown up? You told me they were killed by elephants in a circus accident."

"CIRCUS ACCIDENT!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Drubblesnorts scuttled back to their corner. "How could elephants end up killin' Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world sings his name!"

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly overexcited, like a gitty school girl.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, eager voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledoor told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh — but someone's gotta — an' I can't believe that someone's me! Eeeee! Yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin', o'course." He said with a huge grin while twiddling his fingers.

The giant then stopped, cleared his throat, looked up and threw the Drubblesnorts a dirty look.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', a lot of it's a great myst'ry, ain't it…"

He sat down, told Harry to gather around the fire and didn't make a sound for at least five minutes, and then said to Harry's startlement, "It begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — well it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows —"

"Who?"

"Well — I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Holy heart failure Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went… bad. As evil as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was…"

Hagrid gulped but no words came out, though sweat sure did.

"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested.

"Nah — can't spell it. All right —Voldémort. " Hagrid closed his eyes and covered his ears. "Don' make me say it again, please don'. Anyway, this — wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer his own clique to hang with. Got 'em, too — some were terrified, some just wanted a bit o' his authority, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with anyone after a night on the town. Terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him — an' he killed 'em like they were ants. Horrible, painful death. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledoor's the only one You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school."

"Now, yer mum an' dad were an ok witch an' wizard. Never made Boy o' Girl-in-Chief at Hogwarts or anythin' like that. Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About even bothered with going after 'em… peoples say they were too close ter Dumbledoor ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side since they were good buddies an' all. But between you an' me they was just common folk, notin' special. Just in the wrong place at der wrong times."

"But maybe he did thinks he could influence 'em… maybe he just wanted ter go on a killin' spree. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the township where yous was all livin', on Halloween ten years ago. He came ter yer house an' — an' —"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and gave a thunderous sneeze.

"Sorry," he said. "Dern allergies, the sea always gives me the sniffels— anywa…"

"You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About killed 'em. An' then — an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just had a thing fer killin' babies. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was not yer run of the mill cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even — but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer legendary, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed off some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the Nutters, the Dorkoffs, the Ripples — an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."

Something very painful was going on in Harry's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before — and he remembered something else for the first time in his life: next Thursday would be his Aunt Petunia's birthday. He'd have to make her a card...

Hagrid was watching him.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledoor's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot… ."

"Load of trash, all of it!" said Uncle Vern. Harry was startled; he had practically forgotten that the Drubblesnorts were still there. Uncle Vern certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was giving Hagrid the evil eye.

"Now, you listen here, boy," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating couldn't cure — and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world's better off without them — they were asking for it, getting mixed up with these wizarding types — just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end —"

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. He lunged towards Uncle Vernon and speared the pointy end right into his great gut. Uncle Vern coughed. As Hagrid pulled his makeshift sword back out, blood started to ooze all around the opening. Uncle Vern clutched the wound as he flattened himself against the floor and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which by this time sagged so low he was practically sitting on the floor.

Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"Hagrid, the letter from Hogwarts, it referred to me as... as The Heavy Weight Champion of the World. Why is that?"

"Well now," Hagrid chuckled, "You defeated You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About, who was jus about the mos' pow'ful wizard on the planet by mos' people's calculation, and so the title belongs to you now, don' it?"

"But what happened to Volume-, sorry — I mean, uh, You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About?"

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Nowhere to be found. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see… he was gettin' more an' more powerful — where'd he go?

"Some say he kicked the bucket. A lo' a garbage, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Tho, I reckon that's jus' wat they were sayin' as to not get'n any trouble with the law."

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his mojo. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you ruined him, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't tallied up — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin' about you bewildered him, all right."

Hagrid looked at Harry with affection and blazing eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrifying mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He'd spent his life being Bubba's pouching bag, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vern's slave child; if he was really a wizard, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him in his shed? If he'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Bubba had always been able to kick him around like a football?

"Hagrid," he said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard."

To his surprise, Hagrid laughed.

"Not a wizard, eh? Never made things hap'n when you was nervous or mad? It's one o' duh perks!"

Harry looked into the fire. Now that he came to think about it… every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry… chased by Bubba's gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach… dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow back… and the very last time Bubba had hit him, hadn't he got his revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn't he set a Bengal Tiger on him?

Harry, after a long gaze into the fire, quickly looked up at Hagrid, now smiling his biggest smile he had ever remembered.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry Potter, not a wizard — you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts. A king!"

But Uncle Vern wasn't going to give in without another fight. He mustard all his remaining strength to stand up, though still clutching on to the wound Hagrid inflicted on him.

"Haven't I told you... he's not going..." he said weakly and out of breath. "He's going to Igot High and he'll be mighty glad for it too. I've read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and —"

"If he wants ter go, a big dumb idiot like you can't stop him," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's son goin' ter Hogwarts! It's blasphemy! His name's been down ever since he was born. Probably the mos' entitled kid in history! He's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and tomfoolery in the world. Seven years there and he won't know himself. Messes with the mind, it does. Fer the better, o'course! He'll be with youngsters of his own sort fer a change, an' he'll be under the most tolerable headmaster Hogwarts ever had Schoolbus Dumbled—"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vern.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head,

"THAT'S IT!"

"NEVER —" he thundered, "— INSULT — SCHOOLBUS — DUMBLEDOOR — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at all three Drubblesnorts — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp pop, and the next thing you knew neither Bubba, Aunt Petunia, or Uncle Vern had any mouths. They were all just... gone. Sealed shut.

Uncle Vern roared, or at least he tried to roar. But as much as the family tried to scream, all that could be heard was a very muffled, inaudible whine. Hagrid then began to chase Aunt Petunia and Bubba into the other room. Uncle Vern looked terrified at the sight of this. Once they were through the door, Hagrid came back out and started coming for him. Uncle Vern neither had the strength nor the will to go against the giant any longer. He made a break to join his family on his own. And Hagrid and slammed the door behind him.

Hagrid walked back towards Harry and stroked his beard.

"That ought'ta shut'em up," he said with a giggle.

Harry gave a sideways look at Hagrid.

"Be obliged if yeh didn't chitchat about that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff — it's the only reason I was so keen ter take the job."

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic? Are you some kind of criminal?" asked Harry.

"Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything at a ceremony in front of the whole school. But Dumbledoor let me stay on a custodian apprentice. Fantastic man, The Dumbledoor is."

"Why were you expelled?"

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid quickly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that. Now then off ter bed with yeh, chop chop."

He took off his thick black coat and threw it to Harry.

"You can sleep under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' der pockets. We can have 'em fer breakfast."


	5. The Back Alley

**CHAPTER THE FIFTH**

 **The Back Alley**

Harry woke late the subsequent morning. Even though he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight. He hated mornings.

Was last night a dream? He ask himself. It had to be a dream. A dream where a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. Poppycock! When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my shed.

There was suddenly a loud banging noise.

Yep, right on schedule, Aunt Petunia knocking on the door. But he still didn't open his eyes, he hated mornings so much, and it had been such a strange dream...

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"All right," Harry garbled, "I'm getting up."

He sat up and Hagrid's heavy trench coat fell off him. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was something banging on the front door. Harry walked over and opened it. There stood a pig, which had a newspaper rolled up in one of its snouts.

The pig walked inside and sneezed out the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't stir. The pig then scampered towards Hagrid's coat and began to chew on it.

"Aw no, not the coat!"

Harry tried to shove the pig out of the way, but it squealed fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.

"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's a pig —"

"Pay the man," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

"What?"

"He wants earnings fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."

Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets — bunches of keys, shot pellets, floss, peppermint humdingers, those mice, a ticket to a feta cheese festival and… finally, Harry pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give 'im five kisses," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Umm..." Harry bent down and starting to peck the pig on the check.

On the fourth smooch, Hagrid said, "No no yeh fool! Kisses, the little brown coins. Them's called a kissi. Slip'em on down his snout there."

Harry counted out five little bronze coins, and deposited them into the pig's nose. It then ran out the door and few off.

"Best be off, Harry, before what's-his-face is awake. Plus lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuffs fer school."

Harry was still fiddling with the wizard coins and looking at them, contemplating stealing them. Hagrid wouldn't notice, right? No, he best not after what he saw last night.

"Uh — Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was busy putting on his pants.

"I haven't got any money — and you heard Uncle Vern last night… he won't shell out for me to go and learn magic."

"Oh, don't worry about that," said Hagrid, zipping up. "Yer filthy rich boy!"

Harry wiggled a finger in his ear.

"Come again? —"

"Yeh didn't think yer parents kept their gold bullion in the house, did yeh? Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Here, have a mouse, like 'em best raw meself — an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer leftover birthday meat, neither."

"Wizards have banks?"

"Just the one. Gringotts. That way it be too big to fail. Run by goblins too. Nasty little critters,"

The now dead mouse Harry was holding slipped out of his hand.

"Wait, Goblins?"

"Yeah — so yeh'd be nutty ter try an' burglarize it, I'll tell yeh that. Never muddle with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep secure — 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledoor. Hogwarts matters." Hagrid drew himself up smugly. "He typically gets me ter do the important stuff. Fetchin' you — smugglin' in booze fer teachers — gettin' things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see."

"Got everythin'? Come on, then. Off we go!"

Harry followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was reasonably cloudless at the moment and the sea gleamed in the sunshine. The boat Uncle Vern had hired was destroyed, smashed to bits upon the rocks.

"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat.

"Winged it," said Hagrid.

"You winged it?"

"Yeah, as in I flew here," Hagrid said with a smile.

"Yeah — But not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh. So looks like we're swimmin'. On me back now, hop to it."

But Harry wasn't paying much attention, he was still staring at Hagrid trying to envision him flying.

"Come on boy! We got places to be!" Hagrid barked back as he waded into the shallows.

"Uh... sure thing Hagrid." Harry responded hesitantly.

Harry climbed up onto the back of the giant's broad shoulders and Hagrid started off towards the mainland, a good two miles away by Harry's calculation.

After an hour of awkward silence, Harry felt like he had to continue their earlier conversation.

"Why would you be crazy to raid Gringotts?"

"Spells — enchantments," said Hagrid, uttering each word after a full stroke. "They — say — there's — dragons — guardin' — the — elevated — security — vaults. — And then — yeh gotta — find — yer — way. — Gringotts — is — hundreds of — miles — under — London, — see. — Yeh'd die — of food — shortage — tryin' ter — get out, — not — much — ter eat — in them — parts. — 'Course, — even if — yeh did — manage — ter get — yer hands — on summat, — how ya gonna — cook it? — Gonna — carry — all yer pots — and pans — 'long wit ya?"

"But Hagrid, you are carrying all those cooking supplies used last night."

Hagrid abruptly stopped stroking.

"Ey, that I am Harry. Certainly lernt my lesson, now never leave the house without 'em. Let me tells yeh, not to many people get a second chance at life after tryin' ter rob Gringotts. I was one 'o the lucky few who... Ahem, uh best yeh ferget all tha'." He began swimming towards the coastline once more.

Harry meanwhile looked up to nothing in particular and thought about this for a while.

After another hour of silence, they finally reached shore and clambered up the stone steps and onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town towards the train station. Harry couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, but they were both soaking wet and Hagrid kept pointing and laughing loudly at others on the street. "Look at tha' guy there, Harry? Look at his dopey little vest, AH HA HA HA HA!" Hagrid wailed half crying and slapping his knee. "Things these Muggles wear, eh?"

They soon reached the station, but this was after Hagrid insisted they follow a woman in running gear for a few blocks. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money" wound up giving the man £900 for their tickets.

People in line behind him now stared more than ever.

Once on the train, Hagrid began reading the newspaper the pig had dropped off earlier, the Daily Heretic. Harry was well-educated from Uncle Vern that people liked to be left alone while they did this, and has the scars to prove it.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted The Dumbledoor fer Minister, o' course, but he hates politicians and would never take the job see, so Old Man Cornelius Fudge got the gig. Bungler if ever there was one. He sends Dumbledoor a herd o' pigs every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?"

"Well, their main job is to keep Muggles in their place. Ministry o' Magic falls under the British government, as a secret government agency. Only top Muggle officials are allowed to know it exists. Course, since it's Muggle money that pays for it all, things will get mighty hairy if the right person goes poking around, asking questions and the lot. We don't want them finding out tha' there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?"

"Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be either seeing us as either freaks or wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone. Course, should word ever get out, don't think Muggles stand much in a fight. We're superior in every way, see."

"Still got yer letter, Harry?" Hagrid asked as he continued the conversation.

Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.

"Unbelievable. It's not too wet now is it?" said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

Harry unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn't noticed the night before and was beginning to become quite illegible due to the ink running from the swim. He was just able to make out:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and TOMFOOLERY

STUDENT GARB

First-year students will be forced to wear:

1\. Three sets of pure black work robes

2\. One pure black pointed hat for day wear

3\. One pair of defensive gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4\. One coldness cloak (pure black, silver fastenings)

NOTE THAT BY YEAR 3 JEANS MAY BE SUBSITUDED FOR ROBES

All pupils' shall bear name tags at all times regardless of apparel

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have their own signed copy of the following:

The Big Big Book of Ordinary Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A Chronicle of Magic by Birtha Bigshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

Transfiguration For Dummies by Emeric Switch

One Hundred Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Thirst-Quenchers and Potions by Arsenius Jig

Fantastic Beasts: Where to Find Them and When They Find You by Newt Scammaster

The Dark Side of the Force: A Guide to Self-Preservation by Quentin Tremble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope set

1 brass scales

Students may also bring a pig OR a cat OR a toad OR a sloth

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS. IF ANY FIRST YEAR IS CAUGHT WITH A BROOMSTICK THEY WILL BE EXPELLED IMMEDIATELY.

"Can we acquire all this in London?" Harry wondered out loud.

"Yeah, if yeh in the know," said Hagrid.

Harry by no means had ever set foot in the London Underground before. And although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was evidently not accustomed to getting to London this way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier, and complained loudly to everyone around him that the seats were too small and the trains where deliberately slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed up a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid, huffing and puffing from the stairs, was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Harry had to do was keep close behind him. They passed bars and liquor stores, homeless shelters and places with "XXX" on the windows. From what Harry could tell they seemed to be some sort of cinema. Harry had never been to the movies before, he wondered if he could convince Hagrid to catch a showing on their way back. But nowhere looked as if it could sell you a magic wand, except maybe that toy store back there. This was just a really sketchy street full of pretty sketchy people. Could there really be heaps of wizard gold buried beneath them? Were there actually shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Harry began to think this was all some colossal joke that the Drubblesnorts had cooked up.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. A legendary establishment."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have detected it. The people hustling by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the bail bonds establishment on one side to the seedy hotel on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had the most strangest of feelings that only he and Hagrid could see it. Before he could mention this, Hagrid had hurried inside.

For a famous place, it was awfully dank and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking large glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe, the other two were smoking very long pipes. A little man in a tall top hat and a monocle was talking to the old

bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The high buzz of chatter immediately seized when they walked in. Everyone stopped and stared directly at Harry.

"My word!" said the monocle man, peering at Harry.

"Holy Toledo!" yelled out the old bartender. "It's our savior Harry Potter! We're not worthy of your company..."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and began kissing his feet.

Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. And this bartender was treating him like a god. Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found his hands being kissed by everyone in the Leaky Cauldron as if he was a princess.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last. Oh what a day!"

"He smiled at me! Did you see? Mr. Potter smiled at ME."

"Have mercy on me Mr. Potter, for I am a sinner!"

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"Hey! I remember you..." said Harry going squinty-eyed, as Dedalus Diggle's monocle fell off in his startlement. "You were the one who kissed me once in a shop."

"OH! He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? He remembers I had kissed him! Can I do it again?" Harry shoved Dedalus away as he tried to swoop in for a peck on the check— Doris Crockford attempted to do the same.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching like mad.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your educators at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, doing a curtsy, "c-can't t-tell you how p- p- p- p- p-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Side of the Force," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously, his eyes avoiding Harry's. "You'll be g-getting all your gear, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up an innovative b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself, as one finally shoved him out of the way. It took almost fifty minutes before Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Harry. Out the back, quick!"

Doris Crockford kissed Harry's hand one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Harry.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was worshipped by our kind. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh — mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Is he always that nervous?"

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. They say there was a nasty bit o' trouble with his old hag of a wife — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where's me umbrella?"

Hagrid began counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up… two across…four down... three across" he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry."

He tapped the brick three times with the point of his umbrella.

Nothing happened.

"Hmm, or was it five up, three across, two down then four across? No no, two up, five across, five down, three across..."

After the twenty-third attempt, the brick he had last touched quivered — it wriggled — and then shot out at Harry, barley missing his head. More and more bricks began flying out at them as Hagrid quickly yelled for Harry to get behind him as he opened up his umbrella to use as a shield. After the bombardment, they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid which led onto a yellow brick road that twisted and turned out of sight. Hagrid walk up to the arch and put out his hand as he turned back to Harry and said:

"Welcome, to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at Harry's bewilderment. They stepped through the archway. Harry looked back over his shoulder and saw the scattered bricks fly right towards him and winced, but they all stopped instantly back into a solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the first shop they came to. Cauldrons — All Sizes — Copper, Concrete, Pewter, Silver — Self-Stirring — Self-Heating — Self-Cleaning — Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "But we gotta get yer monnies first."

Harry needed eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickies an ounce, they're absolutely bonkers…"

A low, soft oinking sound came from a dark shop with a sign saying Peppy's Pig Emporium — Scrawny, Berkshire, Essex, Hog, and Guinea. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses smashed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "The new Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two — so fast, it's stupid —" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and cow eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

They had reached a stone white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its great golden front doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was —

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long finger and toe nails. The creature holding onto his suspenders bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, if you bleed

For you awaits the sin of greed,

And those who work, but do not earn,

Must go away, and not return.

But if you seek within these doors,

A treasure that was never yours,

Well you're in luck by jove you see,

Beneath these floors, gold thar' be.

"Like I said, alls us wizards keeps our gold stash here," proclaimed Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they came to a vast marble hall. About five hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind an impressvily long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Harry made their way for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe."

"You have his key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin didn't look too pleased. Harry watched another goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as his fist. He wondered, could he grab a handful of the gems and make a dash for the door before beings stopped? Naw, he best not. At least for now...

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden skeleton key.

The goblin looked at it closely and then sniffed it.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a note here from Professor Dumbledoor," said Hagrid prominently, throwing out his chest. "It's about the..." He looked around to make sure nobody was listening, "You-know-what in vault you-know-which."

Hagrid tapped his nose. The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Grimplesnot!"

Grimplesnot was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Grimplesnot toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the you-know-what in vault you-know-which?" Harry asked.

"If I tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "I'd have to smash yeh lit'l face in. Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledoor's trusted me. Don' really know why, more'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Grimplesnot held the huge thirty-foot door open for them. Harry, who had anticipated more marble, was gravely disappointed. They were now in a dimly-lit narrow stone passageway with flaming torches along the sides. There were little railway tracks on the floor. Grimplesnot whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them.

"Is this some sort of ride?" Harry asked.

The goblin did not look too impressed. He just rolled his beady little eyes and said with a monotone voice, "Please keep all hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times. Gringotts will not be liable for any missing appendages upon return. All dropped coinage throughout the ride will be forfeited. And don't forget to buckle up, we won't be going back if you fall out."

They climbed in — Hagrid with some difficulty — buckled up and were off.

At first they just swiftly glided along the track going slightly faster than walking. But then, all of a sudden, there was a long sharp drop and the cart began hurling through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, down, left, left, left, right, middle fork, right, right, up, left, down, up, middle fork, down, down, down, down, right, left, right, right, left, right, left, left, right, middle fork, middle fork but it was impossible. Harry hoped the rattling cart knew its own way, because Grimplesnot didn't bother steering.

Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. He tried to scream every now and then too when there was a sudden twist or drop but more air seemed to be going inside his mouth than out and he couldn't quite get his voice out. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and spun around to see if it was a dragon, but too late — they plunged even deeper, passing a huge underground lake.

"What's with the lake?" Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart,

"Use tha' to flood the caves if need be to stop robbers, got'em all over down here," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask questions now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

Hagrid quickly leaned over the side of the cart and a nasty sound came out of him. Harry could see some of the sick fly back over Hagrid's shoulder and hit Grimplesnot square on the head. He did not look too pleased. Soon after, the cart came to an abrupt stop beside a small door in the passage wall. Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Grimplesnot unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out. Grimplesnot told Harry and Hagrid not to breathe it in, but it was too late for Harry. His eyes suddenly became very heavy and he coughed once or twice before passing out on the floor...

As he came to, Hagrid's giant smiling face was right on top of him. Hagrid was kneeling right beside him. "Gotta watch out for that gas, guess there were some gungles tha' got locked in here. Their body dies an' decomposes into a poisonous gas. Awful stuff that is. Which reminds me, let's not ferget to check yeh out at the 'ospit'al once we get back up top. Don't want yeh ter catch any sort of lung disease from it now. So we'll be sure to grab some extra gold fer that. All this is yours, after all."

Harry sat up and gasped. All around him were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Kissis. They were inside the vault.

All this was Harry's? — Incredible. The Drubblesnorts couldn't have known about this or they'd have emptied it faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Harry cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a large fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London. It was explained to him that his parents both had Wizarding Life Insurance and that the double payout had been substantial. Mix that with the thousands of donations to the "Save The Wee Baby Potter Fund" and compound its interest for ten years, Harry found himself having a mighty fine looking bank account.

Harry, now riddled with excitement, began running around the vault admiring his new found wealth. He even dove into a pile of coins and began making gold angles. This was the happiest Harry Potter had ever been.

"Let's go Harry, times'a wastin'," Hagrid insisted. "Let's get yeh a good sack full and move on."

Hagrid helped Harry pile some of it into a bag.

"The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickies to a Galleon and twenty-nine Kissis to a Sicky, it's easy enough. Right, that should be plenty fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh here." He turned to Grimplesnot. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Grimplesnot, with a grin.

They were going even deeper now and obtaining considerable speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tighter and tighter corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid snarled and pulled him back by the neck.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Grimplesnot importantly. He placed a tiny device next to the door that looked like four small cannon balls stacked together in a pyramid. As the goblin hobbled away, a rather thin string followed him around the corner. Hagrid and Harry thought they better follow Grimplesnot too. What came next was an explosion, and explosion so loud Harry grabbed his hears with all his might. Walking back around the corner, they could see that the door was no longer there, but in pieces on the floor.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd cause a cave-in and be buried underneath, trapped," said Grimplesnot.

"How often do yeh check to see if anyone's done tha'?" Hagrid asked.

"We don't," said Grimplesnot with another rather nasty grin.

Harry of course heard none of this, a loud ringing was still in his ears. But something really extraordinary had to be within this top security vault. Harry was confident, and he walked forward eagerly, expecting to see heaps of priceless artwork or fabulous jewels at the very least — but it was empty. Completely empty. Except he soon noticed a rather long grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying in the corner. It looked sort of like a baguette parcel his aunt sometimes buys for dinner, which Harry knew all too well from all the times she used it to beat him with after he ruined the pasta. Hagrid picked it up and stashed it deep inside his coat. Harry was desperate to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't chat with me on the way back, 's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

While walking back, Harry saw Grimplesnot throw what looked like glitter at the cart's wheels.

"What's that?" Harry insisted.

"It's an anti-gravity charm. Makes the cart go uphill as if it were going down."

"I see..." Harry was now worried he was in for just as wild a ride going back up.

And just as predicted, one rowdy trip later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a big bag of money. His first thought was to blow it all on lottery tickets for a chance to win even more. But did wizards even have lotteries? He wasn't sure.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid breaking Harry's thought process. He nodded toward Madam Mim's Robes for All Occurrences. "Listen, Harry, I'm gonna slip off fer a quick pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron. I hate them Gringotts carts, liquor is the only cure fer me." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry went for Madam Mim's shop alone while Hagrid abandoned him for alcohol.

Madam Mim was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in purple.

"Hogwarts, deary?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Every year like clockwork, I'm so glad I bribed that Dumbledoor for exclusive rights to the school's uniform. Best decision I ever made — got another one being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a young lad with a pale, pointy face was standing on a chair while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Mim stood Harry on a stool next to him and began taking off Harry's clothes. Harry, not sure of what to do, just stood there and went with it. Once he was left in nothing but his socks, Madam Mim slipped a robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length. The boy was eyeing Harry up this entire time.

"Hello," said the boy finally, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at cauldrons," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Grandmother is off making her famous stew for when we go home and Cousin Mel is out back bartering for some Linguish Potion. Great Uncle Alfred was always the adventurer and is currently in Bermuda I think…"

"Why are you going on and on about your relatives' whereabouts?" Harry asked confusedly. He had never met anyone who instantly burst into a rattling off of where their family was. What an odd little blabbermouth. He wondered if he could use this information to his advantage somehow...

"I'll have you know, that my parents are highly respected members of society. I'll make them introduce themselves when they get back. Then I'm going to haul them off to look at racing brooms. I don't comprehend why first years can't have their own. I think I'll torment father into getting me one and smuggle it in somehow. He never did like it when I poked him in the eye with my wand..."

Harry was reminded powerfully of Bubba. And yet... there was something strangely appealing about this boy.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said yet again, wondering what in tarnation Quidditch could be.

"I do — Father says it will be a national tragedy if I'm not chosen to play for my house, and I must say, I have the same opinion. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they actually get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — envision being a Hufferpuffer, I think I'd kill myself, wouldn't you?"

"Probably," said Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy unexpectedly, pointing toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, his face pressed awkwardly up against the glass grinning at Harry and holding up two large ice creams to indicate he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, relieved to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh…" said the boy, "That tub of lard? What is he, some sort of janitor?"

"Head Sanitation Officer," said Harry.

"Oh yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every day he gets drunk, tries to do magic, but ends up setting his dog on fire or something."

"Does he now? Well... I think he's been rather nice so far," said Harry now aware of Hagrid's flaws.

"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why? Is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into _his_ family's history with this boy.

"Oh, sorry," said the other not sounding sorry at all. "But they were of our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"No, no, no. I mean wealthy. You are being fitted for a tailor made robe, and at 1,400 Gallons each I just assumed you were from a rich family."

"Oh, why then yes then I am. I just came from my huge vault of money." Harry bent down and showed the boy the contents of his bag.

"Ah, well very good. You know... I really don't think they should let the other sort in at Hogwarts, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even had their own Gringott's vault, imagine. I think they should keep admission solely for the old-money families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Mim said, "That's it your all done, deary," and Harry, who's mind had wandered to thinking about his ice cream melting outside, gladly hopped down from the footstool and ran out the door still putting on his pants.

Harry was rather quiet as he licked the ice cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and snozzberry with chopped nuts).

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Not anything," Harry lied. He unconsciously became cold and distant. Harry had felt he started to understand the true Hagrid. One who gets drunk and shoots dogs or whatever it was the boy had said. They stopped to purchase parchment and quills. Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink which moved around as you wrote to turn Harry's terrible penmanship into perfect handwriting. When they had left the shop, he said, "Hagrid, what's Quidillyditch?"

"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know — yeh mean Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Harry. He told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Mim's, but strategically left out the part about shooting dogs.

"— and he said people from poor families shouldn't even be allowed in —"

"So what is this Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. A wizard activity. It's like — whatsits, football is it? In the Muggle world that is. Well ev'ryone who's anyone follows Quidditch here — played up in the air on broomsticks — sorta hard ter explain the rules so I won't."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufferpuffer?"

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuffle are a lot o' duffers, but —"

"I wage I'm in Hufflepuffle," said Harry gloomily.

"Better Hufferpuffer than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single good witch or wizard who was placed in Slytherin. You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About was one."

"Vol-, sorry —You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid. "But enough about tha', let's buy yeh more stuffs."

They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish & Prosper where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as mattresses bound in elephant hide; books the size of a small chocolate made of chocolate; books full of erotic symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all — or so it would seem. Even Bubba, who never read anything, still would not have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Hagrid had to drag Harry by the legs away from Curses and Countercurses (Baffle Your Associates and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Extreme Hair Growth, Jelly-Lips, Shoelace Tying and Much, Much, Much More!) by Professor Burton Jernigan.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Bubba," Harry cried kicking and screaming.

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter utilize magic in the Muggle world except in awfully particular circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, cuz yer stupid. Yer don' know nothin' yet. But you will one day, Harry. You will one day..."

Hagrid let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, even though it said "pewter" on the list. They got a first-rate set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope, jumbo size. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, which was somewhere between a mixture of bad eggs and baby. Barrels of slimy stuff oozed on the floor; herbs, fungi, and bright powders lined the walls; dead birds, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid demanded the man behind the counter get a supply of some basic potion ingredients for the famous Harry Potter, Harry himself poked and pried his way around the store, fingering up all he saw. He examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each. He bought seven. As well as a bag of glittery-black beetle eyes (five Sickies a scoop) thinking they were food.

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again.

"Just yer wand left — O yeh, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Harry felt himself go giddy.

"Yeah, what will you give me?"

In Harry's mind, the meat Hagrid had presented him last night was null and void as a gift.

"I know I don't have to but... Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at — an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer a pig. All the kids want pigs, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin', and useful when they're dead too. Makes fer some mighty good eatin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Peppy's Pig Emporium, which had been dark and full of mud, with eyes everywhere on the ground. Harry now carried a large cage that held a relatively plump little pig, fast asleep with her snout tucked under one leg. Though Harry seemed to be unaware that he was slamming it into numerous lamp posts as he lugged it along.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly as Harry gave his bewildered thanks. "Just Ollivanders left now — only place fer wands, Ollivanders. The bully ran everyone else out o' business years ago. Has a monopoly over all of Europe now."

A magic wand… this was what Harry had been really looking forward to. What would his first trick be? Pull a rabbit out of a hat? Nah it's been done. What about make more money appear? No, it must not be possible or else everyone would be doing that. Thoughts swirled inside Harry's head...

The last shop was narrow and tattered. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Wondrous Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. Since he has a monopoly, there mustn't be any need to spruce the place up Harry thought.

A loud gong rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, unoccupied except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strange as he looked at the thousands of narrow boxes piled from floor to ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some sort of secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a stern voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise as the chair collapsed and Hagrid fell over.

An old man was standing before them and just rolled his wide, pale eyes away from Hagrid's direction.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I knew you'd be in here sometime today. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyebrows. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, getting her first wand. Fifteen and a quarter inches long, black oak, core made of horse. Nice wand that's tough to overwork."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. He gave Harry a wink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a maple wand. Six inches. Pliable. Less powerful but excellent for rapid fire spells. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course!"

Mr. Ollivander gave a loud, awkward hysterical laugh. He had come so close to Harry that they were now nose to nose. Harry could see his own reflection in those misty eyes.

"And that's where…"

Mr. Ollivander stroked the smiley face scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm proud to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful in the right hands… well, had I known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid now just sitting on the floor.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! I didn't know that was you. How nice to see you again… Oak, eight inches, rather on the thick side, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. Served you well, I presume. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er — yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use it?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid an intense look. "Well, now — Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which arm will you use your wand with?"

"Er — well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. Then each finger, the height of his eye sockets, and how far wide Harry could do the splits. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a liquid core made of powerful substances, Mr. Potter. We use human hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the juices of dragon meat. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or snowflakes are quite the same. And surely, you will by no means ever get such excellent results with another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was now measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was fiddling around on the shelves, throwing down boxes.

"That will do, Tapey" he said, and the tape measure flew across into Mr. Ollivander's side pocket. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon blood core. A solid nine inches. Nice and stiff. Just take it and give it a flick."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolhardy) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Six inches. Quite... whippy."

Harry tried — but he had scarcely raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no — here, holly and unicorn hair, eleven inches, nice and supple. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the floor, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination —ebony and phoenix feather, sixteen inches, stiff."

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a little bunny rabbit seemed to squeeze its way out of the end of the want and plopped down onto the floor. It then scampered off out the front door which was still open just a smidge. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried a single tear, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good my boy. SPLENDID! Oh... well, well, well… how curious… how very very curious…"

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious… curious…"

"Sorry," said Harry, "But what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. All eight of them. My assistant Nosmo usually does the selling around here, but he's out on a lunch break for the first time in _years_. All I normally do is collect the profit at the end of each week. But with him gone, I'm left to mind the shop. And well, long ago I just so happen to sell Rubeus here his wand. Both your parents' while Nosmo was in the bathroom. A handful of others throughout the years. And... one other. For you see the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand molted another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its bro gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Couldn't-Even-Kill-A-Baby did great things — terrible, yes, but great."

Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr. Ollivander. Too weird for his taste. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and then Mr. Ollivander booted them from his shop.

The late daylight sun drooped low in the orange sky as Harry and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now deserted. Seems there was a gas leak next door. Harry didn't speak at all as they waddled down the road; he didn't even detect how much people were staring at them on the Underground, loaded with all their funny-shaped packages and with the little pig asleep in its cage on Harry's lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington Bear station; Harry only realized where they were when Hagrid poked him in the back.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer next train leaves. Let's grab some munchies, ay?" he said.

He bought Harry a taco and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry kept looking at his taco. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

"You all right, Harry? Do yer like tacos? Dumbledoor's got me hooked on the stuff. Yer very quiet yer know," said Hagrid.

Harry wasn't sure he could explain. He'd just had the oddest birthday of his life — and yet — couldn't find the words.

"Everyone thinks me special," he said after 5 minutes of awkward silence. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander… but I don't know anything about magic whatsoever. How can they expect great things? I'm famous for not doing anything. I don't have any idea what went down on the night Vol-, sorry — I mean, the night my parents kicked the bucket."

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very small smile and a twinkle in his eye.

"Don' you be concerned, Harry. You'll be trained fast enough. Everyone starts at the start at Hogwarts, you'll be just dandy. Just be yerself. I know 's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a tremendous time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, 'smatter of fact. Maybe yer end up being my replacement sumday!"

There was a hearty laugh that followed. And then with a stern face and a wagging finger, "Jus don't go a doin' that 'til I retire on my own terms, yeh hear."

Soon Hagrid helped Harry on to the train that would take him back to the Drubblesnorts, then handed him an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts," he said. "First o' September — King's Cross — 's all over yer ticket. Any problems with the Drubblesnorts, send me a letter with yer pig, she'll know where to find me… . See yeh real soon, Harry."

The train pulled out of the station. Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; he rose in his seat and pressed his whole face against the window, but he blinked and Hagrid had tripped down some stairs.


	6. Journey From Platform E

**CHAPTER THE SIXTH**

 **Journey From Platform E**

Harry's last month with the Drubblesnorts was fun. Bubba was now so scared of Harry he would stay locked up in his room most of the time, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vern didn't shut Harry in his shed, force him to do anything, or shout at him — in fact, they didn't speak to him at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair with Harry in it were empty. This was an improvement in many ways, and Harry took advantage of the situation by taking sweets and watching whatever he wanted on the television.

Harry played with his new pig for company. He had decided to call her Pigwiggy, a name he had just made up. His school books were very entrancing. He would lay on his stack of hay reading late into the night. Pigwiggy ran around the basement, going to the bathroom wherever she pleased. It was lucky that Aunt Petunia didn't come down to make Harry do laundry anymore.

Harry waited until the very last day of August to speak to his aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day. He thought it would be best to spring it on them last minute. Harry went up to the living room where they were watching a documentary on bricks. He cleared his throat to let them know he was there, and Bubba screamed and ran from the room, arms flailing.

"Erm — Uncle Vern?"

Uncle Vern grunted to show he was listening.

"Er — I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to — to go to Hogwarts."

Uncle Vern's fingers grasped both armrests of his chair tightly.

"Would it be all right if you gave me a lift? Just think, do this one thing and then you'll be rid of me for a while."

His fingers dug in deeper and his face turned all red with rage. Harry supposed that meant yes.

Harry gave a smile with a thumbs up and walked away.

He was on his way back downstairs when Uncle Vern yelled back at him.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Too good for magic carpets are you?"

Harry came back into the room to argue but couldn't come up with any sort of response.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"Blimey, I don't know," said Harry, realizing this for the first time. He pulled the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket.

"I just take the train from platform two point seven one eight two eight one eight two eight four five nine zero four five two three five three six zero two eight seven four seven one three five two six six two four nine seven seven five seven two four seven zero nine three six nine nine nine five nine five seven four nine six six nine six seven six two seven seven two four zero seven six six three zero three five three five four seven five nine four five seven one three eight two one seven eight five two five one six six four two seven four two seven four six six three nine one nine three two zero zero three zero five nine nine two one eight one seven four one three five nine six six two nine zero four three five seven two nine zero zero three three four two nine five two six zero five nine five six three zero seven three eight one three two three two eight six two seven nine four three four nine zero seven six three two three three eight two nine eight eight zero seven five three one nine five two five one zero one nine zero one one five seven three eight three four one eight seven nine three zero seven zero two one five four zero eight nine one four nine nine three four eight eight four one six seven five zero nine two four four seven six one four six zero six six eight zero eight two two six four eight zero zero one six eight four seven seven four one one eight five three seven four two three four five four four two four three seven one zero seven five three nine zero seven seven seven four four nine nine two zero six nine five five one seven zero two seven six one eight three eight six zero six two six one three three one three eight four five eight three zero zero zero seven five two zero four four nine three three eight two six five six zero two nine seven six zero six seven three seven one one three two zero zero seven zero nine three two eight seven zero nine one two seven four four three seven four seven zero four seven two three zero six nine six nine seven seven two zero nine three one zero one four one six nine two eight three six eight one nine zero two five five one five one zero eight six five seven four six three seven seven two one one one two five two three eight nine seven eight four four two five zero five six nine five three six nine six seven seven zero seven eight five four four nine nine six nine nine six seven nine four six eight six four four five four nine zero five nine eight seven nine three one six three six eight eight nine two three zero zero nine eight seven nine three one two seven seven three six one seven eight two one five four two four nine nine nine two two nine five seven six three five one four eight two two zero eight two six nine eight nine five one nine three six six eight zero three three one eight two five two eight eight six nine three nine eight four nine six four six five one zero five eight two zero nine three nine two three nine eight two nine four eight eight seven nine three three two zero three six two five zero nine four four three one one seven centillionths at eleven o'clock," he read.

His aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Two point seven one eight two eight one eight two eight four five nine zero four five two three five three six zero two eight seven four seven one three five two six six two four nine seven seven five seven two four seven zero nine three six nine nine nine five nine five seven four nine six six nine six seven six two seven seven two four zero seven six six three zero three five three five four seven five nine four five seven one three eight two one seven eight five two five one six six four two seven four two seven four six six three nine one nine three two zero zero three zero five nine nine two one eight one seven four one three five nine six six two nine zero four three five seven two nine zero zero three three four two nine five two six zero five nine five six three zero seven three eight one three two three two eight six two seven nine four three four nine zero seven six three two three three eight two nine eight eight zero seven five three one nine five two five one zero one nine zero one one five seven three eight three four one eight seven nine three zero seven zero two one five four zero eight nine one four nine nine three four eight eight four one six seven five zero nine two four four seven six one four six zero six six eight zero eight two two six four eight zero zero one six eight four seven seven four one one eight five three seven four two three four five four four two four three seven one zero seven five three nine zero seven seven seven four four nine nine two zero six nine five five one seven zero two seven six one eight three eight six zero six two six one three three one three eight four five eight three zero zero zero seven five two zero four four nine three three eight two six five six zero two nine seven six zero six seven three seven one one three two zero zero seven zero nine three two eight seven zero nine one two seven four four three seven four seven zero four seven two three zero six nine six nine seven seven two zero nine three one zero one four one six nine two eight three six eight one nine zero two five five one five one zero eight six five seven four six three seven seven two one one one two five two three eight nine seven eight four four two five zero five six nine five three six nine six seven seven zero seven eight five four four nine nine six nine nine six seven nine four six eight six four four five four nine zero five nine eight seven nine three one six three six eight eight nine two three zero zero nine eight seven nine three one two seven seven three six one seven eight two one five four two four nine nine nine two two nine five seven six three five one four eight two two zero eight two six nine eight nine five one nine three six six eight zero three three one eight two five two eight eight six nine three nine eight four nine six four six five one zero five eight two zero nine three nine two three nine eight two nine four eight eight seven nine three three two zero three six two five zero nine four four three one one seven centillionths."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Uncle Vern. "There is no platform Two point four six, uh three ... whatever!"

"That's what it says here on my ticket, in the fine print."

"Hogwash," said Uncle Vern, "That's what your school should really be called. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother. And we're going to dump you there and I best not be seeing you again until next summer, even if this platform whatsit doesn't exist. You hear me?!"

"Why are you going to London?" Harry asked, trying to keep things friendly.

"Taking Bubba to the hospital," growled Uncle Vern. "Think he has the diarrhea. Can't have him running around with that now before he goes to Smellin…. Wait, why am I telling you this boy! Off 'ter bed with you! Now Git!"

Harry woke at ten o'clock the next morning and realized he was very late and nervous he may miss the train. He got up and quickly just pulled on his jeans because he didn't have time to put on his wizard's robes — he'd have to change on the train. He checked his Hogwarts list yet again to make sure he had everything he needed, shoved Pigwiggy in her cage, and then lugged his huge heavy trunk up the stairs and into the Drubblesnorts' brand new Humvee after Uncle Vern had wrecked his third the week before. Once Aunt Petunia had talked Bubba into sitting next to Harry, they set off.

Miraculously, they reached King's Cross with fifteen minutes to spare. Uncle Vern dumped Harry's trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for him. Harry thought this was oddly kind until Uncle Vern stopped dead, facing the platforms with a malicious grin on his face.

"Well, there you are, boy. Platform two — platform three. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they? Sounds like you're the butt of an elaborate hoax!"

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number two over one platform and a big plastic number three over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

"Have a good term," said Uncle Vern with an even nastier smile. He slapped Harry on the back and left without another word, laughing and wiping tears away from his face. Harry turned and saw the Drubblesnorts speed away. All three of them were laughing. Harry's eyes went wide. What on earth was he going to do? He was starting to attract a lot of funny looks, mostly because of Pigwiggy's squealing like she was dying in her cage. He'd have to ask someone.

He stopped a passing guard, but didn't dare mention platform two point seven one eight two eight one eight two eight four five nine zero four five two three five three six zero two eight seven four seven one three five two six six two four nine seven seven five seven two four seven zero nine three six nine nine nine five nine five seven four nine six six nine six seven six two seven seven two four zero seven six six three zero three five three five four seven five nine four five seven one three eight two one seven eight five two five one six six four two seven four two seven four six six three nine one nine three two zero zero three zero five nine nine two one eight one seven four one three five nine six six two nine zero four three five seven two nine zero zero three three four two nine five two six zero five nine five six three zero seven three eight one three two three two eight six two seven nine four three four nine zero seven six three two three three eight two nine eight eight zero seven five three one nine five two five one zero one nine zero one one five seven three eight three four one eight seven nine three zero seven zero two one five four zero eight nine one four nine nine three four eight eight four one six seven five zero nine two four four seven six one four six zero six six eight zero eight two two six four eight zero zero one six eight four seven seven four one one eight five three seven four two three four five four four two four three seven one zero seven five three nine zero seven seven seven four four nine nine two zero six nine five five one seven zero two seven six one eight three eight six zero six two six one three three one three eight four five eight three zero zero zero seven five two zero four four nine three three eight two six five six zero two nine seven six zero six seven three seven one one three two zero zero seven zero nine three two eight seven zero nine one two seven four four three seven four seven zero four seven two three zero six nine six nine seven seven two zero nine three one zero one four one six nine two eight three six eight one nine zero two five five one five one zero eight six five seven four six three seven seven two one one one two five two three eight nine seven eight four four two five zero five six nine five three six nine six seven seven zero seven eight five four four nine nine six nine nine six seven nine four six eight six four four five four nine zero five nine eight seven nine three one six three six eight eight nine two three zero zero nine eight seven nine three one two seven seven three six one seven eight two one five four two four nine nine nine two two nine five seven six three five one four eight two two zero eight two six nine eight nine five one nine three six six eight zero three three one eight two five two eight eight six nine three nine eight four nine six four six five one zero five eight two zero nine three nine two three nine eight two nine four eight eight seven nine three three two zero three six two five zero nine four four three one one seven centillionths. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when Harry couldn't even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, thinking Harry was pulling some kind of practical joke on him. Getting desperate, Harry asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but the guard said it was all the way on the completely other side of the station. In the end the guard strode away, muttering about time wasters. Harry was in an immense panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, he had just five minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and he had no idea how to do it; he was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and a pig.

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell him something you had to do, like tapping that brick to get into Diagon Alley. He figured he must do the same and began tapping on the walls with his wand while getting awfully odd looks from passersby.

At that moment a group of people walked just behind him and he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"— packed with ugly Muggles, of course —"

Harry swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with blazing red hair. Each of them were pushing a trunk like Harry's in front— and they had a pig.

Heart hammering, Harry pushed his cart after them. They abruptly stopped but Harry didn't, and he plowed right into the lot of them causing carts and people to fly every which way.

"Oh, sorry," Harry said nervously as he picked up his pig's cage.

"Quite alright, deary. No one's dead, right boys?" The plump woman said dusting herself off and getting to her feet.

There was a moaning grunt from the boys as they got up and worked to get their trunks, which had all fallen over, upright once more onto the carts.

"Now, what's that platform?" said the boys' mother.

"Platform e!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand, "Mom, can't I go…"

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first. You know what happens if you're slightly off so do be careful."

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms two and three. Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it — but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of Asian tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly woman, you call yourself our mother?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

Off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone — but how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier. He was almost there — and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

Harry wasn't sure what was going on.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the plump woman.

"Oh, now what is it this time?" she said impatiently. "Is this your first time at Hogwarts? Obviously. Ron's new, too."

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, sickly-thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Yes," said Harry. "The thing is — the thing is, I don't know how to —"

"How to get onto the platform?" she said sharply, and Harry nodded.

"All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms two and three. Don't stop and don't let it know you're scared or you'll crash into it, that's very important. And make sure to hit it slightly on the right or you'll wind up in the African desert like Ron's brother his first time. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Er — okay," said Harry.

He backed his trolley up around a hundred feet or so and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.

He started to walk quickly toward it. People jostled him on their way to platforms two and three. Harry began to run, then went faster and faster. He was going to smash right into that barrier and then he'd be in trouble — leaning forward on his cart, he broke into his top speed and screamed — the barrier was coming nearer and nearer — he wouldn't be able to stop — the cart was out of control — he was ten feet away — he closed his eyes tight ready for the crash and screamed even louder —

It didn't come… he kept on running… a moment later he opened his eyes. A scarlet steam engine was right in front of him. This time he really was going to crash. POW! Harry's books and things smashed their way onto the train while the cart impaled Harry's stomach.

Harry weakly began collecting his things, again. A sign overhead said Hogwarts' Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words "Platform _e"_ embroidered on it. He had done it. He didn't know how but he done it. He actually gotten there early, a good two minutes to spare. Harry was quite certain he had never been early to anything in his life before.

Smoke and soot bellowed out from the engine covering Harry and his things. After several coughs, he thought he'd better start finding himself a seat. Harry began making his way through the chattering crowd, while stray cats of every color wound here and there between his legs. Pigs grunted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few cars were already packed with students, many half hanging out of the window to talk to their families, with others fighting over seats. Harry pressed his cart onward down the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Yo Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh Neville, you'll never make it in the real world," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us some, Lee, come on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him hooted and applauded.

Harry pressed on through the mob until he discovered an unfilled compartment near the end of the train. He put Pigwiggy inside first and then started to thrust his trunk up to the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins he'd followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Harry panted.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

With Fred's help, Harry's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

"Thanks," said Harry, reaching out his sweaty hand for a thank-you shake.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's smiley face scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you —?"

"He is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Harry.

"What?" said Harry.

"Harry Potter!" sang the twins.

"Oh, him..." said Harry. "I mean, yes. Yes I am."

The two boys gawked at him, and bent down to kiss his feet. Harry felt himself turning red. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mom."

With one last kiss each, the twins hopped off the train.

Harry sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he could spy on the red-haired family and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way but she grabbed him, spit in his face, and began rubbing the end of his nose.

"Mom— geroff!" He thrashed around until he was free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the twins.

"Better than having your whole face," said Ron.

"Where's Percy, our perfect child?" said their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy came strutting into view. He had transformed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry noticed a red and gold badge on his chest with the letter P on it. For Percy? Was he supposed to have one with an H? Was it some sort of... Oh No! The Nametag! Harry had forgotten this on his list...

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front, the perfects have got two luxury cars to themselves —"

"Oh, are you perfect, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once —"

"Or twice —"

"A minute —"

"All summer —"

"Well I am perfect you know," said Percy the Perfect.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because he's perfect," said their mother fondly. "All right pumkin, have a high-quality term — send me a pig when you get there."

She pinched Percy on the cheek and then he left. Then she turned to the twins.

"Now, you two — this year, you conduct yourselves appropriately. If I get one more pig telling me you've blown up a teacher or —"

"Blown up a teacher? We've never blown up a teacher."

"Great idea though, thanks Mom!"

"It's not amusing. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins will be protected from us."

"Shut up," said Ron. His nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

"Hey Mom, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"

Harry leaned back hastily so they couldn't see him creeping.

"You recollect that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?"

"Who?"

"Harry F-ing Potter!"

"Fred!"

"I'm George"

Harry then heard the little girl's voice.

"Oh, Mom, can I go on the train and look at him, Mom, please…"

"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you ogle at. Is he really, George? How are you certain?"

"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there — like a smiley face alright."

"No wonder he was alone, I wondered why he had no parents of his own to see him off. But I guess that explains why he was ever so rude when he asked how to get onto the platform. No parents to set him straight."

"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About looks like?"

Their mother abruptly became extremely grim.

"I prohibit you from asking him. No, don't you dare. As if he wants reminding of that on his first day at school."

"All right, all right, keep your wig on."

"How did you kn-..."

A whistle sounded.

"Hasten up!" their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the doorway to wave good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you oodles of pigs."

"We'll even send you a Hogwarts' teacher's head."

"George!"

The train began to budge. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train. Then Ginny tripped and fell and began crying even louder.

Harry watched the girl now grabbing her knee and her mother attempting to comfort her until they disappeared as the train rounded the corner. Back alleys of businesses now flashed past the window. Harry felt an enormous increase of excitement. He didn't know where he was going — but it must be better than what he was leaving behind.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded boy enter barged in.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat contrary to Harry's. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. His eyes locked with Harry's and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Harry saw he still had a black smudge on his nose.

"Yo, Ron."

The twins were back.

"Pay attention, we're going down to the middle of the train — we hear Lee Jordan's got some... well that's need to know, isn't it?"

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Harry," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our weasley little brother. So long, then."

"Bye," said Harry and Ron. Their eyes locked once more, but this time with a smile. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them, noticing their reaction.

"Are you really thee Harry Potter?" Ron blurted out.

Harry confirmed.

"Oh — well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. "And have you really got — you know…"

He pointed at Harry's brow.

Harry pulled back his messy, greasy hair to reveal the smiley face scar. Ron stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About —?"

"Sure, why not?" said Harry, "I don't remember anything really."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well — ok, I do remember a lot of green light. But I don't know what that means."

"Wow," said Ron with another small smile. He sat and stared into Harry's eyes for a few moments with his mouth half open. Then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry, who found Ron just as attractive as Ron found him.

"Er — Yes, I think so," said Ron. "I believe Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him since the, erm... unpleasantness."

"So you must know tons of magic already."

"Not really. Dad always said he'd rather put food on the table than send us to pre-wizard school."

The Weasleys were clearly one of those poor wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went to dwell with the Muggles," said Ron. "What are they like?"

"Horrible people, the lot of them. I wish I'd had three wizard brothers. Someone to play with, someone to share secrets..."

"Five," inserted Ron. For some reason, Ron's rosy cheeks were now looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our kin to go to Hogwarts. You might say I've got plenty to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left — Bill was Boy-in-Chief and Charlie was El Capitan of Quidditch. Now Percy's perfect. Fred and George mess around a lot, and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone I know expects me to do at least as well as the others, but even if I pull it off, it's no big woop, because they did it initially. I never get anything new, either. I've been given Bill's old robes, Charlie's used wand, and Percy's old rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket and yanked out a tubby gray rat, which was either asleep or dead.

"His name's Scabbers and he's beyond useless," Ron went on about the rat. "He scarcely ever wakes up. Percy got a pig from my dad for being made perfect, but they couldn't affor — I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's whole face went red. He seemed to think he said something he shouldn't have.

Clearly, Harry thought, his suspicions of Ron's family being poor where now confirmed. Harry was doubtful this boy had a large vault full of money like his. He must remain cautious with this one, he wouldn't want to make friends with a mooch. So instead he told Ron all about having to wear Bubba's old garments and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up.

"… and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or ol' Voldémort —"

Ron gasped, grabbed his ears, and quickly fell to the floor.

"What?" said Harry.

"You said You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and scared. "I'd have thought you, of all people —"

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, I just like saying the name," said Harry, "Voldémort! See?" Ron grabbed his ears once more.

"Well I like it, sounds like an expensive bed & breakfast villa in the country. Welcome to Voldémort! See what I mean?" Another wince. "I just never knew you shouldn't say it. I've got plenty to learn about your ways and I bet I'm the worst wizard in the class."

"Yeah, maybe... But there are loads of kids who come from Muggle families and sometimes learn quick enough. Others though... can't make the cut and end up going back to the Muggle world within a semester."

They both turned to stare out the window.

Whilst they were talking, the train had taken them out of London. Now they were speeding past the slaughterhouses in the country with corrals full of pigs and cows. They were silent for a time, watching the fields and animals flick past. Was this new school going to chew up Harry and spit him out too?

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and then a smiling, plump woman burst through their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harry, who hadn't eaten hardly anything in his last days with the Drubblesnorts, leapt to his feet, but Ron's face went red again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches and would only take his free sip. Harry meanwhile went into the corridor to check out what was on the cart.

He had never had any funds for sweets with the Drubblesnorts, and now that he was loaded he was ready to buy as many Butterfinger Bars as he could carry — but the woman didn't have Butterfingers. What she did have were Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Harry had never seen in his life. Not wanting to neglect anything, he got some of everything and paid the woman handsomely for it. She said thanks while nodding to the tip jar, and Harry dumped some more coinage inside not really knowing how much he had just spent but also not really caring.

Ron stared as Harry brought it all back in to the compartment and dumped it onto the empty seat next to Harry.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," said Harry, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty and immediately spitting it out.

"Blah! These are terrible..."

"Not a fan of pumpkin?"

"I guess not..."

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There was a sad little sandwich inside. He pulled it apart and said, "She always forgets I don't like bologna."

"Are you not going to eat that?" said Harry.

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Ron.

"Sure I do, give it here," said Harry, who had never had anything like bologna before and wanted to try that too. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with someone who didn't despise him, eating his way through all the things Harry never had before: pasties, cakes, candies and the bologna sandwich. Ron however, just sat and licked his lips, or just stared out the window some more.

"What are these?" Harry asked Ron, hoisting up a bunch of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not really dead frogs covered in chocolate, are they?" He was beginning to feel that these wizards would eat anything.

"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know — Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect — famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

"I thought you were po-" Harry caught himself. Why was this seemingly poor kid able to buy nearly 500 chocolate frogs? Something seemed fishy here...

"Er... I thought you were poo —" Harry caught himself. "Po-lite before. When the lady came... with the cart."

"Um, ok..." Ron gave a perplexed look.

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and pulled out up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore bunny-shaped glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Schoolbus Dumbledoor.

"So this is Dumbledoor!" said Harry.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of The Dumbledoor!" said Ron. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa."

Harry flipped the card over and read aloud ignoring Ron:

SCHOOLBUS "THE KILLA" DUMBLEDOOR

PRESENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

"Worshiped by many as the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledoor is practically perfect in every way. Particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Adolf Hitler in 1945, for the discovery of his twelve uses for human blood, and his work on alchemy with his BFF, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledoor enjoys West Coast Hip Hop and Interpretive Dance."

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his _astonishment_ , that Dumbledoor had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back."

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

Harry quickly said. "You know, in the Muggle world people just stay put in photographs."

"Do they now? They don't move at all?" Ron sounded shocked. "How creepy!"

Harry watched intently as Dumbledoor tip-toed back into the image and gave Harry a wink. Ron seemed to act like magic cards were commonplace, but Harry couldn't keep his eyes off them. Soon he had not only Dumbledoor and Morgana, but Hengist of Warcraft, Alberic the Burner, Prometheus, Merlin, and Jane Goodall. He finally tore his eyes away from The Dutchess of Malcontent, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You ought to be rather cautious with those," Ron advised Harry. "When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor — you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and taco, but then you can get spinach or spoiled fish. George reckons he had a cotton-flavored one once. May I?"

Ron picked up a green bean without waiting for Harry's reply. He looked at it carefully and took the tinniest bite into a corner.

"Bleaaargh — see? Poison Ivy. Even itches some." Harry noticed small blisters began to form around one side of his mouth.

Still, they had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Harry made Ron his official taste tester and eventually tried burnt toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, aluminum, sand, peach, paper, lemon, birchwood, squirrel, ghost pepper, breakfast, leather, curry, grass, motor oil, and Harry was eventually brave enough to nibble the end of a funny off-white one Ron refused to touch, which Harry assumed was salt.

The scenery now flying past the windowpane was becoming wilder. The neat rows of cows had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a bang on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry had passed on platform came in. He looked like he'd been weeping buckets.

"Pardon the interruption," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've misplaced him! He keeps sneaking away from me!"

"He'll appear someday," assumed Harry.

"Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him…"

He left without leaving instructions.

"Don't know why he's so troubled," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad I'd throw it out the window as soon as we made it out of London. Toads, blergh. "

"Or, " He went on, "I'd throw it to the ground and give it a big squash."

He had just raised his hand to do the motion when the compartment door slid open again. The toad-boy was back, but on this occasion he had a girl with him. She was already dolled-up in her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone noticed a toad hopping around the train? Neville's lost one," she said. She had a dominant sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've previously declared we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand on the seat next to Ron. He had taken it out of his trunk when grabbing his sandwich.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down. Ron looked confused.

"Er — all right."

He cleared his throat as he took out Scabbers and picked up his wand.

"Zipline, crazies, Japanese dew, Turn this stupid, fat rat blue."

He shook his wand violently, but nothing took place. Scabbers remained gray and fast asleep.

"How confident are you that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well it's not very useful regardless, is it? I've attempted a small number of straightforward spells just for the heck of it and it's all turned out well for me. Not one person in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a bombshell once I opened up my letter, but I was ever so delighted, obviously, I mean, it's the most excellent school of witchcraft there is, or so I've heard — I've read through all our course books, didn't you? — I'm Hormone Granger, by the way, and you are?"

She said all this very fast.

"Ron," Ron muttered.

"Harry Potter," said Harry.

"GET OUT! Are you really?" squealled Hormone with delight. "I know all about you, of course More than you probably know yourself — I acquired scores of extra books, for a bit of light reading, and you're in History's Modern Magic: Remarkable Happenings That Shaped Our Lives and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Side of the Force."

"I am?" said Harry, feeling confused.

"Great googly moogly! Didn't you know? You're legendary! I'd find out everything I could if it was me," said Hormone. "Wish the V man went after my parents and our roles reversed…. Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around for the inside scoop, and I hope I'm in Viacom, it sounds by far the best; I hear The Dumbledoor himself was in it, but I suppose Gryffindor wouldn't be all that bad if it came to it… Whatever, we better continue to look for Neville's toad before someone steps on it. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there in no time."

And she pranced out the door, yanking the toadless boy with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his wand into his trunk. "Stupid spell — George suggested it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"What houses are your brothers in?" asked Harry.

"Gryffindor, the lot of them," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. Dad says I'll be kicked out of the family if I'm not. I suppose Viacom wouldn't be a terrible place, but I'd hang myself if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking severely depressed.

"You know, I think the end is near for Scabbers, he really does look old and weak," said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off houses. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?"

Harry was unsure of what a wizard did for money once you finished school.

"Charlie's in Romania Jane Goodall-ing dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Where you informed about the Gringotts fiasco? It's been all over the Daily Heretic, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles — someone tried to rob the place."

Harry eyes went wide, almost popping out of their sockets.

"Really? What happened?" Harry instantly feared someone had broken in and looted his vault.

"Nothing, that's why it's such historic news. Those who done it haven't been caught. My pops says it must've been a mighty dark wizard to get round Gringotts without being detected, but they also don't think they took anything, and that's what's so funny about this whole thing. 'Course, everyone gets in a frizzle when something like this happens in case You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About is pulling the strings behind the operation."

Harry cranked this news through his mind. He was starting to get a slight tingling sensation every time You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About was mentioned, and he had to admit that he kinda liked it. Though he'd never mention this to Ron.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Er — I don't know any." Harry confessed.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you just hold your horses, it's the best game in the world —" And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the cash.

"Sounds pretty dumb to me," Harry replied. "I mean, what's the point of scoring points when all you have to do is..."

Just then, the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toadless boy, or Hormone Granger this time.

Three boys barged in, and Harry identified the middle one without delay: it was the pale boy from Madam Mim's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with even more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Oh it's you," Harry proclaimed. "Come to give me an update on what your mom and dad and uncle whatsit are up too?"

"Is it true?" he said. "They're proclaiming all up and down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yep," said Harry. He was eying up the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Not exactly his type for friends. Standing on either side of the pale boy in dark sunglasses, they looked more like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabby and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy and don't you be forgetting the Draco."

Ron gave a slight cough, which was obviously trying to hide a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name's amusing, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father disclosed to me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, and Harry obliged with a firm gesture.

"Seems like you're certainly the right chap I should be in bed with — er friends with I mean, thanks," he said with shifty eyes.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge did appeare in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said matter-of-factly. "You hang around riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Ron stood up.

"Say that again," Ron said, his face as red as his hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Hey guys, let's not do this," said Harry quietly.

"Well well now, what's this? We've eaten all our food but you still seem to have some."

Goyle dove toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Harry. Ron leapt forward to stop him, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrific shriek.

Scabbers the rat was deepthroating Goyle's pointer finger with its sharp little teeth almost all the way up to his knuckle — Crabby and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and around, howling. This went on for a few moments, with nobody knowing what to do. Then Scabbers finally flew off and smashed through the window. All three of the intruders disappeared at once, but not before Malfoy yelled, "We'll get you one day Weasley, and your little rat too!"

Ron turned to Harry after they had left and said, "Well I guess they just took care of that second problem, didn't they?"

A moment later, Hormone Granger had come in.

"What has been going on?" she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and the smashed window now letting in the cool air from outside.

"One of Malfoy's goons threw my rat out the window," Ron said. "Have you met Malfoy before Harry? You two seem to have a history."

Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I know the history of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the last to come back to our side after You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About vanished. Said they'd been bewitched. Pops doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side of the Force." He shot a look at Hormone. "Do you want something?"

"You'd better scurry and put your robes on, I immediately came from the front to ask the conductor how much longer, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"My rat's been doing the fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"Hmm... I'd much rather stay if that's ok."

They both gave her an odd look.

"All right fine, I'll go — I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the train," said Hormone in a sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron scowled at her as she left. Harry poked his head out of the broken window. It was getting dark. He could see the highlands under a profound purple sky. The train did appear to be decelerating.

He and Ron took off their clothes and pulled on their long black robes. Ron's were a bit short for him, you could see his whole sneakers under them. They were also rather worn.

A voice boomed throughout the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in 30 seconds. Ever so kindly leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately after a security sweep."

Harry's stomach lurched with nerves at the thought of an unknown security officer going through is baggage. And Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. Harry crammed his pockets with the last of the sweets and they both headed out into the crowded corridor.

Just then the train braked hard and soon stopped with a jolt, sending kids and luggage flying. People untangled themselves and made their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, shadowy platform. Harry quivered in the icy night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the crowns of the pupils, and Harry heard an all too familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years get yer butts over here! Harry! You made it! Was a bit worried you'da missed the train, what with you not knowin' wha to do and all."

Hagrid's giant hairy face beamed over the ocean of heads.

"C'mon, walk this way — any more firs' years? Mind yer step! If yer trip 'n fall 'n break yer head, don't be blamin' me now. Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, rocky, narrow trail. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry couldn't see beyond a few feet. Once or twice, he thought he saw a pair of yellow eyes staring back at him. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, now kept losing his footing and tripped again and again which scrapped his knees. Harry could tell he was trying ever so hard not to burst out in tears.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' peek at Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid hollered over his shoulder, "jus' round the next thirty-two bends."

Eventually, there was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path ended suddenly on top of a cliff above a great black lake, at least Harry thought it was a lake being that it was completely flat. Balanced atop a high mountain on the further side, with a huge amount of smoke billowing from its chimneys, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

The students then climbed down an even more dangerous path and eventually arrived at the water's edge.

"No more'n four to a boat! Less you'd like a watery end." Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little dingys sitting by the shore. Harry and Ron followed Neville and Hormone into one of the boats.

"Everyone in?" barked Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then — FORWARD!"

And the armada of tiny boats moved off the bank all at once and slithered through the lake which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was scared silent, staring up at the impenetrable fortress overhead being greatly intimidated about the upcoming school year. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it was mounted.

"Heads up!" yelled Hagrid. "O'er I guess that's Head Down!" as the first boats reached the cliff. They all turtled their heads as the little dingys carried them into a long, dark tunnel which appeared to be taking them right underneath the castle and whose celling got lower and lower until it was just above the boat. Soon they found themselves in a large opening at a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, what's this! A toad? Quick, someone throw it back!" said Hagrid, who was inspecting the boats as people climbed out of them.

"No! It's Trevor!" cried Neville ecstatically holding out his hands. Harry wondered if that really was Neville's toad or a different one that just happened to be there. The odds did seem to be in the latter's favor…

Then they clambered up a passageway carved in the rock by following Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last from a secret trap door in the lawn right in front of the castle.

They strolled up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the massive oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer blasted toad boy?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and tapped three times on the castle door.


	7. The Hat That Judges People

**CHAPTER THE SEVENTH**

 **The Hat That Judges People**

The door swung open immediately before Hagrid could tap a fourth time. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very strict face and Harry's first thought was that this was someone who had never won a beauty pageant.

"Professor Hardcastle McCormick, I have delivered the firs' years," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. Your receipt. None of them drowned like last year, did they?"

"No mam, not nobody not nohow! Got lucky this time 'round."

"Wonderful, I will take them from here."

She threw the door wide open. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit a whole family of whales inside. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a glorious marble staircase facing them led out of sight to the upper floors. There was also a full-size statue of a wizard in the middle of the hall, who was pointing upwards and had a very stern look upon his face with a book in his other hand.

They followed Professor Hardcastle McCormick across the room. Harry could hear hundreds of voices from a doorway to the left — the rest of the school must already be here — but Professor Hardcastle McCormick shoved the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, smashing up against one another so they would all fit, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor Hardcastle McCormick. "You should all consider yourselves very lucky to because we had a record low acceptance rate this year. The Start-of-term Blowout Feast will activate momentarily, but before you snag up any old seat in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very vital ritual because, while you are here, your house will become your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep with your house, and do hard labor with your house."

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuffle, Viacom, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noteworthy history and each has churned out stupendous witches and wizards over the years, with the exception of one of course. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any failures or stupidity will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great, great honor. Plus it comes with a coupon for a free butterbeer."

"The Sorting Ceremony will happen in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all clean yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment to Ron's smudged nose. Harry anxiously spit into his hand and tried to flatten his hair.

"I shall reappear when we are prepared for you," said Professor Hardcastle McCormick. "Please remain here quietly."

She left the chamber. There was a loud BANG as she slammed the door behind her. Harry swallowed. The first year students soon broke out into noisy conversations about what was before them.

"In what way exactly do they sort us into houses?" Harry yelled at Ron over the noise.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot."

Harry's heart gave a horrifying jolt. A test? Pain? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any magic —what in the name of all that is holy would he have to do? He hadn't anticipated something like this. He peeked around and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. He peeked over at Hormone Granger who was muttering to herself with her eyes closed a very fast list of what Harry assumed where spells. He tried hard to listen to her, hoping he'd pick up on something but it was no use. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he had to take a school report home to the Drubblesnorts saying that he'd failed algebra. He kept his eyes fixed on Hormone's lips and ears pointed towards the door. Any second now, Professor Hardcastle McCormick would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something unworldly happened that made him leap several feet in the air — more than a few others screamed.

"What the —?"

He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just glided through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they flew across the room talking to one another hardly glancing at the first years.

Somebody screamed, "Kill them! Kill them until their dead!"

The ghosts seemed to be in a dispute. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Pardon and try not to remember, I say, we should give him a fifteenth chance —"

"My dear Friar, haven't we granted Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know — I say, what are you all doing in our hideout?"

The ghost wearing tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"Ah! New students!" said the Fat Friar, grinning. "About to be Sorted, I suppose? Why else would you be in the Chamber of Torment?"

A few people nodded slowly, most had a perplexed look on their faces.

"Hope to see you in the Hufflepuffle!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Get out of here you ghastly beasts!" said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

It was the return of Professor Hardcastle McCormick. At the sound of her voice, the ghosts flew away through the opposite wall.

"Now then, form a line," Professor Hardcastle McCormick told the first years. "Who would like to be the Line Leader?"

Only Hormone raised her hand, and with great gusto.

"Right then, you girl, up front," Professor Hardcastle McCormick instructed. "Ok then, off we go."

They walked out of the chamber and headed back across the hall. Harry felt the urge to run away, down any of the dank corridors of the castle. His plan would be to hide out in the shadows until the school year had passed and go live with the Drubblesnorts for the rest of his life. Even that would be better than what he imagined he was about to go through. But by the time he had thought out his grand plan, he was already walking through a pair of double doors and into the Great Hall which meant it was too late.

Harry had never imagined such a strange and outlandish place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were hovering in midair over four lengthy tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and diamond-encrusted goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where Harry guessed the teachers were sitting. Professor Hardcastle McCormick led the first years up to assemble there, so that they could face the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces now stared at the first years. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hormone whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the heavens outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History Laced In Scandal."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply get drenched in a downpour.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor Hardcastle McCormick slammed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she placed a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed. It almost looked like one of Aunt Petunia's Sunday hats, if it wasn't so tremendously dirty.

Maybe all he has to do is pull a rabbit out of it? That seemed to be the sort of thing these magic types are into. But now aware that everyone in the hall was staring at the hat, he thought he'd better stare too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence, and it was awkward. Then the hat shuddered, dust flew off to the floor. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, who says you must be pretty,

Don't judge on what you see,

I'll burn myself if you can find

A superior hat to me.

If you get in trouble with the mob,

And what you owe's not small,

Well I'm the great Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all!

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

I'll discover all your secrets and

Tell you where you ought to be.

You might wind up in Gryffindor,

If you are not that smart,

Their swearing, nerve, and bigotry

Set Gryffindors apart;

Still you may be a Hufflepuffle,

If you got no brain at all,

If you are chosen for this house

It could lead to your downfall;

Or if you're picked for Viacom,

My advice is to savor it,

You have quite the advantage here,

For this is the clear favorite;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

Greatness for you awaits,

For either you or your foes

Will soon see the Pearly Gates.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

Where you listening to my rap?

Your secrets are all safe with me,

For I'm this evening's Dunce Cap!"

The whole hall exploded into applause as the hat ended its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became motionless again.

"So all we got to do is try the stupid thing on?" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on and on about how we had to wrestle a troll that's set on fire."

Harry gave a huge smile. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell. But still, he did wish they could have tried it on in the Chamber of Torment without everyone watching. Still, the hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel like any of what it said at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt super queasy, yes that would have been the one for him.

Professor Hardcastle McCormick now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I announce your name, you will apply the hat and park yourself on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment of silence—

"A HUFFLEPUFFER!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right shouted approval and clapped as Hannah went to find a seat at the Hufflepuffle table.

"Bones, Susan!"

"ANOTHER HUFFLEPUFFER!" shouted the hat again, and Susan waddled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"VIACOM!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Viacoms stood up to shake each other's hands.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" was gobbled up by Viacom too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then turned out to be a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but he thought they looked like an ugly bunch.

He was beginning to feel even more sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, because he was always no good.

"Finch-Flatulence, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFFLE!"

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat cried out the house at once, but others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," sat on the stool for a whole thirty-eight minutes before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

A horrible possibility suddenly struck Harry, as horrible thoughts tend to do when you're panicky. What if he wasn't selected at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages? How long would Professor Hardcastle McCormick give it until she jerked the hat off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he needs to go home? A couple hours? All night? Surely they wouldn't let him sit there for weeks on end while the hat tried to make up its mind...

"Granger, Hormone!"

Hormone ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron let out a groan. Hormone didn't look too pleased either as she took her place amonst her new house for life.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. Ron said, "Well there's a Hufferpuffer if I've ever seen one."

When the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Ron just gave a "huh."

Malfoy swaggered forward slowly, proudly holding on to his oversized "The Dark Side Shall Rise Again" belt buckle which was attached to a rope he was wearing around his robes, when his name was called. The hat had barely touched his head when it shrieked, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join Crabby and Goyle, already selected to Slytherin, and looking mighty satisfied with himself.

There weren't many kids remaining until the pivotal moment of truth. "Moon"… , "Nott"… , "Parkinson"… , then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"… , then "Perks, Sally-Anne"… , and then, at last —

"Potter, Harry. Our lord and savior."

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The famous Harry Potter?"

"My God, the Wizard King himself!"

The final thing Harry witnessed before the hat fell over his eyes was the hall full of people scrambling to get a look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a little voice in his ear. "Challenging. Very challenging. Plenty of nerve, I see. Mind is lost, but there's potential. There's a bit of a temper too, my goodness, yes — and a nice yearning to fit in, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

Harry pulled the sides of the hat down hard and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

"Ouch! Knock it off kid, or I just might put you in Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "You could be great there, you know, it's all mapped out in your head, and Slytherin will set you up nicely for greatness, no doubt about that — no? Ok, it's your life kid — better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall, which made Harry's ears hurt. He took it off and walked disorientedly toward the Gryffindor table, a loud ringing now in his ear which drowned out the largest applause yet by far. He was so relieved to have been picked and not being put in Slytherin was pure icing on the cake. Percy the Perfect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "Suck on that everybody, we got Potter! We got The Destroyer!" Harry sat down opposite the ghost he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling like he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water, and the pain was severe.

He could see the High Table in all its splendor now. And at the very end, sitting at his own little table off to the side, was Hagrid. He saw Harry was looking his way and gave him a hearty thumbs up. Harry, still getting over the effects of the icy pain, just sat there with a look of panic on his face. Hagrid though, just assumed he was in a bit of shock from going through the Sorting experience.

Harry continued to look around, and there at the epicenter of the High Table, in a large very over-the-top golden chair, sat Schoolbus Dumbledoor. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd won from the Chocolate Frogs on the train. Dumbledoor's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that reminded him we were all going to die one day. Harry picked out Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very shifty-eyed in an oversized American cowboy hat.

And now there were only four people in line to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," an African boy who towered over even Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Viacom associate and then it was Ron's chance. He was pale green by now. A second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry golf-clapped with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley arrogantly across Harry as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor Hardcastle McCormick rolled up her scroll and snatched up the Sorting Hat.

Harry stared down at his empty golden plate. He was starving, the snacks he had on the train seemed like eons ago. His stomach gave a little gurgle. He couldn't take it much longer, so he snuck a handful of Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans still in his pocket. The resulting flavor was not pleasant, but swallowed it anyway to attempt to sooth his hungry appetite.

Schoolbus Dumbledoor had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if he was about to give a very lengthy speech.

"I'm a man of few words," he said. "Any questions?"

Nobody moved.

"Good!"

He sat back down. Everybody burst into applause and cheered. Harry didn't know what to think of it.

"Is he — a bit bonkers?" he asked Percy uncertainly.

"Bonkers?" said Percy airily with a slight chuckle. "You bet, off his ruckus he is. Deranged is more like it. Want some fries, Harry?"

Harry's mouth plunged open. The dishes in front of him were now overflowing with food. He had never seen so many things to eat on one table: roast beef, fried chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, french fries, sausage pizza, and bacon and steak pizza too, french-bread pizza, pizza pockets, pizza rolls, pizza lunchables (pre-made), bagel-bite pizzas, breakfast pizza, pizza-flavored Pringles, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, raw dead fish.

The Drubblesnorts pretty much starved Harry, he'd never been allowed to eat as much as he liked. Bubba had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Now, without anyone saying there was a limit, Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the pork chops and began to eat. It was all pretty mediocre, despite looking rather delicious.

"Oh, what I would give for just one slice of that pie," said the ghost, watching Harry stuff his mouth.

"Can't you —?"

"My boy, I haven't eaten for practically five hundred years," said the ghost. "Don't require it, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Peter de Mimsy-Poppingtonfieldville at your service. Occupying ghost of the Gryffindor Tower. I'm the ghostest with the most-est! Har Har!"

"I know who you are!" said Ron said out of nowhere, and with a mouth full of bagel bites. "My brothers warned me about you — you're Practically Paranoid Pete!"

"I would prefer, young man, that you call me Sir Peter de Mimsy —" the ghost began, but was cut off when Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"Practically Paranoid? How can you be Practically Paranoid?"

Sir Peter looked extremely annoyed, as if their networking wasn't going at all the way he wanted.

"My lad," he said angrily, "If you had witnessed The Great Magic-Folk Massacre of 1528, I'd dare you to come out half as sane as I am."

At that precise moment, someone down the table threw something at Sir Peter, which of course went right through him. But Sir Peter began frantically looking every which way.

"THE MUGGLES ARE STORMING THE GATE BOYS! TO ARMS!"

Percy chimed in, "Calm down Pete, that was just a chicken bone."

"Ah, yes. Quite right." He coughed, and said, "So — new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never won it, in the entire thousand year plus history of the school. Come close many a time, but Viacom or Slytherin always beats us in the end. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row now! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable at our annual Ghosting Convention— he's the Slytherin ghost, you know."

Harry peeked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horribly fat ghost sitting there, with one giant monocle, a thick face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements. Harry felt sorry for him.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great curiosity.

"You know, I've never asked," said Practically Paranoid Pete.

When everyone was stuffed with doughy pizza, the leftovers faded from the plates, making them sparkling clean as before. A moment later desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, strawberries, snozzberries, jam doughnuts, and Scrumdiddlyumptious Bars … but for some reason the dead fish was still left around.

As Harry helped himself to a snozzberry, the talk turned to their family history.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. But me Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til their wedding night. Bit of a nasty shock for him it was."

The others laughed.

"What's your story, Neville?" said Ron.

"Well, my granny brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but all of family thought I was switched at birth or a dud, cuz they thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned — but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him some pie and he accidentally let go. It hurt horribly smashing into the concrete driveway below, as you can imagine. But it didn't kill me and my bones began to heal within a few days, and that's when they knew. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here — the theory is there must have been some mix-up at admissions, they didn't think I had a chance, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad. Now, where did he go..."

On Harry's other side, Percy Weasley and the Hormone were talking about lessons ("I do wish they'd start right away, there's so much to study, I'm predominantly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposedly unimaginably difficult —"; "You'll be starting small, like salt into pepper and that sort of thing — ").

Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor Hardcastle McCormick was talking to Professor Dumbledoor. Professor Quirrell, in his absurdly large cowboy hat, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It took place very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's hat straight into Harry's eyes — and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What is it? Have you been eating too much ice cream?" asked Percy.

"N-nothing."

The sting had vanished as swiftly as it had come. Tougher to get rid of was the sensation Harry had gotten from the teacher's look — a sensation that he'd rather not go through again.

"Who's that hideous creature chatting with Professor Quirrell?" he quizzed Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. Teaches Potions, but doesn't want to — everyone knows Snape's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Side of the Force, Snape."

She was the most horrible looking woman Harry had ever seen. He watched Snape for a while, it was like trying to take your eyes off roadkill. However Snape didn't look at him again and he was relieved.

Eventually, the desserts also disappeared, and Professor Dumbledoor got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem — I've just been informed that I am legally required to let you know the following. First years should engrave in their minds that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. If you go in there, you will be shot — Or worse."

Dumbledoor's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, says that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Unless of course you are looking for detention."

"Quidditch auditions will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone attracted to playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed loudly, but he was the only one who did.

"Is he serious?" he mumbled to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, scowling at Dumbledoor. "But it is peculiar, since he typically presents a basis for why we're not permitted to venture off somewhere — the forests are completely occupied with dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he should have told us perfects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledoor. Harry noticed that the teacher's and student's smiles had vanished with annoyance and loud groans could be heard all over.

Dumbledoor gave his wand a huge flick, as if he was casting a fishing rod out to sea, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone choose their preferred tune," said Dumbledoor, "and here we go!"

And the school drearily sang:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, bo bogwards,

Bo-na-na fan-na fo fogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Give us a mountain of homework,

So our brains don't turn to cheese,

And if we had our merry way,

There'd be no meals at all,

We'd spend our time in the library,

And never go to the Great Hall,

So teachers please don't be afraid,

Our minds are yours to mold,

Please pile on the lectures,

Or we shall drop dead cold."

Not one person finished the song at the same time. Several moments later, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledoor joined in for their last few lines and when they had finished, he was the only one who clapped.

"Ah, music," he said, with weeping eyes. "A magic from another realm of what we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you lot, get out of here before I release the hounds!"

The Gryffindor first years chased Percy, who commanded they follow him out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase. Harry didn't feel much like walking, he was so full of food, and groaned all the way up the stairs. He was too bothered by this strenuous task to even notice that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that Percy had led them through hidden passageways that wound up making them backtrack three times.

"Sorry lads, thought this was a shortcut," Percy snickered.

They climbed more and more staircases, moaning and dragging his feet, and Harry just about had enough of it and was fully prepared to sleep on the stairs when they came to a sudden halt. A bundle of steak knives were floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started flying towards him.

Percy quickly drew his wand and screamed, "Come-on-knives-do-the-locomotion!"

At this point, the cutlery came to an instant halt no more than a few inches away from some of the first years' heads. Percy waved his want to the left then down and the steak knives followed his movements until they were safely on the ground. Percy picked up one of the knives, which had green slime all over it.

"Peeves?" Percy whispered. He raised his voice, "Peeves how dare you! — show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like a giant whoopee cushion, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a large see-through green blob with a face and two little arms appeared, floating in the air.

"Oooooooh!" it said, with an evil cackle. "Firsties! Oh what fun it is to glide!"

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked but it was no use. As a ghost, he went right through them. However in doing so, they became covered in green slime.

"Go away, Peeves, or I'll call You Know Who to come and get you, I mean it!" barked Percy, whipping his face.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed covering them in a thick slime too.

"Beware of the Peeves. Only one person can stop him," said Percy, as they embarked up more stairs again.

"Who ya gonna call?" asked Seamus Finnigan.

"The Bloody Baron! He's the only one who has direct power over him, he won't even listen to us perfects. Ah, here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a skimpy pink outfit.

"Password?" she said, batting her eyes.

"Captain Sparrow," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a tiny hole in the wall. They all squeezed through it — Neville needed a little heave — and oriented themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy beanbags.

Percy shoved girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the tippy top of a spiral staircase — they were evidently in one of the towers — they stumbled upon their beds at last. All were quickly claimed and Harry was left with the one near the staircase and the torch that wouldn't go out no matter how much water he poured on it. Their trunks had already been brought up too, and were stacked in the middle of the room. But the boys were too tired to change, and collapsed in their beds to fall asleep.

Perhaps Harry had scoffed down way too much, because he had a very outlandish dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's cowboy hat, which kept talking to him, telling him he must run away to the circus at once because it was his destiny. Harry told the cowboy hat he didn't want to be in the circus; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully — and there was Percy, laughing at him as he struggled with it — then Percy turned and looked at the hook-nosed teacher Snape who told Harry to kill the Malaysian Prime Minister — then there was a burst of green light and Harry woke up, drenched in sweat.

He couldn't fall back asleep again, but couldn't remember why...


	8. The Ugliest Woman In The World

**CHAPTER THE EIGHTH**

 **The Ugliest Woman In The World**

"Look at his face!"

"Did you see that funny scar?"

"Whoa, the Champion of the World himself!"

Whispers and pats on the back followed Harry from the instant he ventured out from his dormitory the next day. People even lined up behind a velvet rope just outside the fat bikini lady door to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred thousand staircases at Hogwarts, or twelve depending on which route you took: spacious ones, sweeping ones; rickety old ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some that led you to a room which Harry was convinced to be the inspiration for The Addams Family; some with vanishing steps halfway up that you had to avoid all together or you'd plummet to your death; some that never ended no matter how high you climbed, only to turn around and realize you didn't go but more than a few feet up. Then there were the doors. Doors that wouldn't open unless you asked in French, or kicked them in at exactly the right place, doors that you had to shrink yourself in order to get through — only fifth years and up knew out to do this — and doors that looked like real doors, but if you walked through you found yourself in the middle of the lake outside the school. It was impossibly hard to remember where everything was, especially because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits where of no help either. They constantly gave bad directions and seem to get off on making students late to their classes, and Harry was sure the coats of armor followed him around when he wasn't looking.

And if that wasn't enough, the ghosts also were of no help. It was always a nasty shock when you were on the toilet and they burst through into your stall. Practically Paranoid Pete always tried to swat student's schoolbooks out of their hands because they contained "evil" — whatever that meant. Of course he couldn't actually do anything, his hands just went right through, but it was the annoyance of him being around and how he wouldn't leave you alone until you threw your books out the window or dropped them and ran away. But Peeves the Poltergeist was worth eight locked doors and a deadly staircase if you met him when you were tardy for class. He would hurl things at your head, belch in your ear - which also caused a rather nasty smell - or slime you so badly your skin would turn green for days and your clothes would be forever ruined.

Even more dreadful than Peeves, if that was even achievable, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. He committed crimes against the students so heinous, we can't even go into them here. Filch also owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, hairless creature with bulging, bug like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors unaided. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe in her water bowl, and she'd cry out in an ear-piercing shriek for Filch, who'd emerge from the shadows, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps those Weasley twins) and could appear just as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the fond memory of many who were able to sneak up on Mrs. Norris and give her a good kick down the hall.

And then there were the bloody classes themselves. There was plenty more to this magic business, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand around and saying a few funny words like a lunatic.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Friday at midnight and learn the names of a hundred and sixty eight thousand stars. Three times a week they had to figure their way out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they were educated in how to grow strange plants and fungi, of which they quickly discovered the hard way that most of them where poisonous. Easily the most mind-numbing class was Chronicle of Magic, which was taught by a ghost whose lectures involved him just reading from an exceptionally dry book with no pictures in a very dreary tone. Professor Binns had fallen asleep one night in a chair alongside the staff room fireplace. But a few sparks flew out during the night and ignited the all too shaggy rug causing the whole room to go up in flames taking Professor Binns to the grave — or so everyone thought. To most of the faculty's surprise he appeared for class the next day in ghost form and has solidified that his monotonous class will be part of the school's curriculum for decades of students to come. Dumbledoor likes this arrangement because Professor Binns doesn't have to be paid or fed and is secretly researching how he can bump off a few other teachers to drive further efficiency at the school.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms instructor, was a teeny weeny wizard who had to stand on a mountain of books in order to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he jumped down and ran to Harry where he kissed and hugged his kneecaps for a good eight awkward minutes.

Professor Hardcastle McCormick was again different. Harry had been quite right to think this was a teacher who has had a hard life thanks to her unattractiveness, and she would pass that frustration on to the class as revenge. Strict and authoritarian, she gave them a good talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"There will be no roughhousing in this class. Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone caught messing around... and you will be put in The Cooler for no less than three days time. This is your only warning."

Harry wasn't sure what "The Cooler" meant, but before he had time to ask Ron, Professor McCormick changed her desk into an erotic painting of herself and then quickly into one of her sitting in Dumbledoor's chair at the head table when she realized her mistake. They were all very frightened and couldn't wait to get out of there, but soon were relieved to hear that they wouldn't be changing furniture into art for a long time. After taking a tremendous amount of complicated notes for the first day, they were each given a glass of water and started trying to turn it into wine. By the end of the lesson, only Hormone Granger had made any difference to her water; Professor McCormick gulped down Hormone's glass then gave her few pats on the head in approval. All that Harry could do was turn his into a greenish bubbily liquid.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Side of the Force, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a joke. All he had them do during the first week was draw random things in the room. First they drew his bowl of fruit, then a rather odd looking fish. Then they had to sketch Professor Quirrell duking it out with either a zombie or a troll or a dragon — students' choice. "If you can draw your enemy, then you can beat your enemy for you have the power to visualize your victory!" he told the class. His classroom also smelled strongly of strange garlic, which he said was to ward off a jealous vampire he'd beaten in a card game in Romania who had vowed to come back and get him one of these days. The funny smell hung around him always stinking up the corridors. The Weasley twins insisted that his cowboy hat was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry soon became very frustrated to find out that he was miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families too but they had all gone through a two-week all-inclusive "Welcome to the Magical World of Magic" orientation at the school a few weeks prior to the start of term. Harry clearly never even knew about this. Apparently the pig that was supposed to deliver his notification died on route to get to him.

Friday was a noteworthy day for Harry and Ron, they finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without something going wrong. Each day so far they had either slept in too much or got lost on the way down. The previous day, the two found themselves locked in a windowless room without a door. Seems the one they came in through was only one way. It wasn't until after lunch that a Hufflepuffer heard their screams and ran to get a teacher so they could be rescued.

"What's on the schedule today?" Harry asked Ron as he engulfed his porridge in sugar. Aunt Petunia never let Harry have any more than a few pinches of sugar at home, and was determined to take advantage of his new found situation.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape is Head of Slytherin House and fancies them with special treatment — we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish Hardcastle fancied us," Ron said with dreamy eyes. Harry shot Ron a confused look. "Uh, well, you know, like goes easy on us and such since we're in her house and all."

Professor Hardcastle McCormick was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a colossal pile of homework on their first day.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred pigs had suddenly stampeded into the Great Hall during breakfast, running around the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Pigwiggy hadn't brought Harry anything so far, which made him begin to wonder why he ever got her in the first place. She sometimes came in just to nibble his on his shoes or have a bit of bacon scraps before going off to sleep in the pigery with the other school pigs. Harry was a bit concerned as to why she had such a fond taste for bacon...

This morning, however, Pigwiggy jumped up into Harry's lap and dropped a note into Harry's porridge. Harry tore it open once he wiped it down with a rather loud moan. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Scarface,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup o cheddar with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send an answer back with Pigwiggy.

Hagrid

P.S. Say hello to my little friend.

Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled "Yes, please, see you later" on the back of the note, and sent Pigwiggy scampering off.

It was lucky that Harry had a meeting with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he had been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry — she hated him. And for good reason.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the mountains, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call and predicted each person's final grade. But unlike Flitwick, she was hideously ugly. She paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, Yes," she said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new — Pinball Wizard."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabby and Goyle giggled behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. Her eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," she began. She spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word — like Professor Hardcastle McCormick, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stop death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hormone Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hormone's hand had shot into the air as high as she possibly could.

"I don't know, mam," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer and eyeballs flared with rage.

"You little twerp, I'm a man!"

He was pretty livid about that little mishap. Half the class snickered while the other just stared dumbfounded, not believing that Snape was actually a dude.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hormone began waving her hand in every which way vigorously, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabby, and Goyle, who were trying despretly not to laugh from when Harry called Snape a woman.

"I don't know….. uh, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold, ugly eyes. He had looked through his books at the Drubblesnorts', but did Snape expect him to remember everything in One Hundred Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi?

Snape was still ignoring Hormone's oscillating hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hormone stood up on top of her seat and began jumping, her hand almost touching the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hormone does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hormone. "For your knowledge, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Day of Living Dead. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a Chinese man and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite, tinklewipe, compoosa, fairyweed, goblegonder, dewsage, bumfizzle, hickory dock, spewge, yonderware, and dazzlecon. Well? Why aren't you all taking detailed notes? Everything said in this class is exam-able."

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, someone said, "Even the part about you not being a woman?"

"That's it, a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your tongue, Potter, since you started this whole thing."

It didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson drudged on. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure cooties. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried, dead mosquitos and broken hearts, disapproving of almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to be fond of. He was in the middle of telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stuck in his popsicle stick when there was an explosion that filled the dungeon with a deafening sound. Neville had somehow managed to blow up Seamus's cauldron, even though they were not using any explosive material. Neville, who had been drenched in the boiling potion when it discharged, moaned in pain as his skin began to melt off his face.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, picking up all of the skin blotches on the floor. "You had one job to do!"

Neville screamed as his exposed body began to bleed every which way.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. "And make sure you give them these." He gave Seamus a handful of Neville's skin. He then honed in on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You — Potter — this is all your fault. That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Harry assumed this must have been true. After all, weird stuff has always happened around him and he figured his mere presence must have triggered the explosion somehow. But Ron kicked him in the behind and encouraged Harry to protest. Harry opened his mouth to speak…

"Don't push it," Snape muttered, "I've been told I can be very nasty."

More snickering amongst the students as Harry slowly closed his mouth and continued working on the group assignment.

They scaled the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, exhausted. Harry's mind was completely numb and his spirits were at a new low. Not only did he not get any of this magic stuff, he had lost two whole points for Gryffindor in his very first week — All because he had called Snape a woman. It wasn't long before the whole school heard what Harry had done, and this set off a great debate amongst the students of whether Snape was in fact a man or a madam.

"Cheer up," said Ron, "Lots of people think Snape's a lady. Even I wasn't sure until he confirmed it there. Still, you can never be sure. Not like I'm going to go peep in on him in the bathroom... Hey speaking of weird dudes, can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

"Um… He only invited me."

"Oh come on, I'll let you have some of the sweets my mom had sent if I can tag along."

"Ok, sure you can impose."

At half past three they left the castle and ran their way across the grounds after they realized what time it was. Harry had put his mind away from the Snape debacle and placed it solely on the bribe Ron had promised him. Meanwhile Ron what thinking what luck that he found a patsy to take his mom's terrible excuse for "sweets" off his hands. Hagrid's abode was a small wooden hut on the edge of the forbidden forest. Large pairs of socks and even larger garments of underwear were strung alongside the front porch railing.

As they approached the door they heard loud, booming barks. Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang —back." Followed by several whipping sounds and then a faint whimper.

"I heard he likes to beat dogs," said Harry to Ron.

"Ah," Ron said understanding.

Harry then knocked on the door. Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack in the door that was evidently used as a peephole.

"Who goes there?" he said. "That you Thaddeus?"

"What? No, I'm Harry Potter."

"Potter me lad! Well why didn' yeh say so, come in, come in." Hagrid said as he opened the door.

He let them in, but had a perplexed look when his eyes came across Ron. He bent down low and put his arm around Harry, shielding Ron with his back.

"Er, umm, Harry, whose dis odder guy? Hmm? Can' have just any ol' stranger come walkin' inter me residence here. These be dangerous times, yer know."

"Sorry, but he promised me sweets if I'd bring him."

Hagrid bent down even further and whispered in Harry's ear so only he could hear, "Ok, but yeh gotta give me half yer take of them sweets."

Harry thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

"MARVLOUS!" Hagrid bellowed as he stood up and faced Ron. "Come in both of yeh, and I'll makes us some cup o' cheddar." He winked at Harry.

There was only one room inside. Dead pigs and rodents were hanging from the ceiling, in the center was and open fire, and in the corner was very big dog that was either passed out or sleeping or dead.

"Hope yer like yer cheddar sharp," said Hagrid as he plopped 3 large chunks of cheese into a pot and put it over the fire.

Hagrid then took a good long look at Ron.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid after a stare down. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from me crops. An' if yeh got any mind at all, yeh be wise ter avoid their lifestyle lest yeh wan' an arrow in yeh back." Hagrid wagged his finger at Ron as he said this.

"No sir," Ron said in a startled reply.

"Grand!"

At this time Hagrid picked up the pot from the fire, walked over to a table and poured the liquefied cheese into three separate cups and then passed them around. Harry wasn't sure what was going on, but Ron sure acted like it was perfectly normal so Harry just followed his lead and drank it up pretending to enjoy it. They then proceeded with telling Hagrid all about their first lessons.

Harry and Ron were ever so delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that boring old fart."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter kick 'er down the hall meself. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she tries ter scratch me eyes out? Can't get rid of her — Filch puts her up to it. I just knows it, all I needs is proof."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, wasn't sure either if Snape was a dude or a lady.

"But he claims to be a man so…"

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "I'm pretty sure tha' there's a woman. I mean, don' yeh find her at least a little attractive?"

Harry and Ron just looked at each other.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron, quickly changing the subject. "I liked him a lot — great with his hands."

Harry was quite sure that Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's side job at the massage parlor in Diagon Alley, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the now empty cups o' cheddar. It was a cutting from the Daily Heretic:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN HAPPENED

Inquiries continue into the incident at Gringotts on 31 July, widely alleged to be the work of rouge Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken and that we should stop calling it a break-in. The vault that was robbed had in fact been conveniently emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you nothing about the baguette shaped package that was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry recalled Ron telling him on the journey here that someone had attempted to raid Gringotts, but Ron hadn't stated the date.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that break-in happened on my birthday! It was probably happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it this time, Hagrid definitely didn't want to talk about _this_ subject. He grunted and offered him another cup o' cheddar, which Harry refused. Harry read the account again. The vault that was searched had in fact been conveniently emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that strikingly similar package to the one described. Had that been what the thieves were looking for? Was Harry somehow an accomplice?

As Harry walked Ron back to the castle for dinner, Harry concluded that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as cup o' cheddar with Hagrid. He must now devote most of his time to solving this mystery in a world he knew zero about. Nothing was more important than this. Questions swirled in his mind. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid and Snape have a history he didn't want to tell Harry?


	9. After Midnight We

**CHAPTER THE NINTH**

 **After Midnight, We're Gonna Let It All Hang Out**

Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Bubba, but that was before he met Ronald Weasley. He was always hanging around, lurking. Harry couldn't get rid of the chap. And since they were in the same house, they had all their classes together. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was quickly becoming one of Harry's good friends. Might even be BFF material, Harry thought. Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so he didn't have much of a chance to really get to know Malfoy all that much. Or at least, he didn't until he noticed a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday — and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Oh, goodie," said Harry with some excitement. Maybe he and Malfoy could fly off on a broomstick together?

He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else. As a toddler, he would imagine himself growing wings and flying off to exotic lands away from the Drubblesnorts. And now, he's just days away from doing it for realz.

"Oh now isn't that just perfect, more time with the Slytherins and that Malfoy," said Ron mockingly. Harry felt a little jealousy in his voice. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet he can't walk the talk."

Malfoy really did talk about flying a lot. He even filed a formal complaint about how first years are barred from getting on house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggle "flying contraptions". He wasn't the only one, though: Seamus Finnigan was a blabbermouth too. Seemed his pop made him spend most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick to practice. Says he hated the long hours at first but then learned to like it as he developed what his father called, discipline. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen, which wasn't many, about the time he hit what turned out to be a cell tower on Charlie's old broom. He was hospitalized for 2 months. Everyone from wizarding families had a very strange obsession about Quidditch. Ron had already had an intense fight with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, over soccer. Ron couldn't see what was so exciting about a game with only one ball and where no one was allowed to use their hands. He called it "boring" "childish" and that he'd rather "go to 1,000 Snape lectures than sit through one match of soccer". By the end both boys had to go to the hospital wing to get fixed up.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she probably had good reason because Neville always managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents everywhere he went. Neville was the personification of Harry's clumsiness on steroids. He ended up needing four separate trips to the hospital wing in the first week of term alone and had several near misses.

Hormone Granger was more nervous about flying than Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book — not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all with stupid flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditching with the Masters. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him later on, but everybody else was very relieved when Hormone's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice. So when Malfoy's pig brought him a package full of sweets from home, he gleefully shared with Harry. All Ron could do was stare in hunger and amazement at the tasty treats given to Harry.

A pig brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it impatiently spilling several juice goblets around him and revealed a large black ball with a small flat area at the top.

"It's my Magic 8 Ball!" he explained. "I had forgotten this at home — this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Watch, I shake it in my hand and ask it a question like this, 'Have I forgotten something' and — oh…" His face fell, because the flat area at the top revealed the words, "Yes, definitely."

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Magic 8 Ball out of his hand.

Harry and Ron laughed at this because Neville didn't even notice. But Professor Hardcastle McCormick, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got Neville's Magic 8 Ball, Professor." Ron snitched.

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Magic 8 Ball back on the table.

"Just prodding is all," he said, and he slithered away with Crabby and Goyle behind him.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors frantically ran down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. One girl tripped and took out two others. All three had to go to the hospital wing and missed their first lesson. It was a grey, drizzly kind of day, and the grass was slippery under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a flat patch on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, evidently being punctual was a strong quality for Slytherins while being tardy was a notable trait of Gryffindors. There were twenty or so broomsticks piled in a pile. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or can on occasion snap in half mid-flight.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, was already standing there, stern and annoyed the Gryffindors were late yet again. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a fox.

"Well, what took you all so long this time?" she barked. "Doesn't matter, everyone grab a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry was last to pick out his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles and he was pretty sure the top part was rotting away.

"Place your broom on the ground next to you and stick out your right hand over it," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Activate!'"

"Activate" everyone shouted.

Malfoy's broom soared into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hormone Granger's had smacked her in the face before falling lifeless on the ground once more, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like pumas, could sense fear, thought Harry; there was a quiver in Neville's voice that said only too plainly that he wanted to keep his feet on land. Harry eventually got his into his hand after meeting the broom halfway.

Madam Hooch then exhibited how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips with forceful gestures. Harry and Ron were shocked when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I whoosh my whistle, kick off from the ground, intensely," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your sweepers stable, rise a few inches, and then come straight back down by leaning forward somewhat. On my whistle — three — two —"

But Neville, panicky and twitchy, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's succulent lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising like a rocket blasting off to the moon — twenty feet — fifty feet. Harry could barely make out his terrified white face just before he slipped sideways off the broom and —

WHAM — after a thud and a nasty crack Neville lay facedown on in the mud. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and soon out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face red with rage.

"Broken bones everywhere," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy — I know it hurts but up you get."

She spun around to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Avada Kedavra.' Come on, stupid child."

Neville, his face tear-streaked in pain, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than the class burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

"What a fat little crybaby!"

"That doofus, he'll never hear the end of that one."

"Ahoy!" said Malfoy, scurrying forward and snatching something out of the mud. "It's that silly thing Longbottom's granny sent him."

The Magic 8 Ball sparkled in the drizzly rain as he held it high above his head for all to see.

"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry playfully.

Malfoy smiled.

"I'll fly over there so we can play catch. Want to give it a go?"

"Yeah sounds fun!" Harry yelled. Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly very well. Hovering even with the topmost branches of an oak he called playfully, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom.

"No!" shouted Hormone Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move — I'm not taking the fall for your stupidity."

Harry ignored her. Excitement was brewing in his head. He had never played catch before and wasn't going to pass up the opportunity now. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; light rain rushed through his hair, he needed a shower anyway — and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without screwing it up — this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard the admiring gasps of girls back on the ground and a favorable whoop from Ron.

He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked impressed.

"Give it here," Harry called.

"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, feeling the need to test out Harry's skill.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the eight ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harry, as though in slow motion, saw the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down — next second he was gathering tremendous speed in a deep dive, racing the ball — wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching — he stretched out his hand — a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled with great force into the mud with the Magic 8 Ball clutched safely in his fist. Golf claps where given all around.

"HARRY POTTER! Get your butt over here!"

He thought he was having a heart attack from the shock. Professor Hardcastle McCormick was running uncontrollably toward them. He got to his feet, trembling, and covered in mud.

"Never — in my seven decades at Hogwarts —"

Professor Hardcastle McCormick was speechless with shock, and she lifted her glasses up and down furiously as she eyed Harry, "— why — you don't even have a broken neck —"

"It was all his fault, Professor. Him and Malfoy, we had nothing to do —"

"Be quiet, Miss Granger — Potter, follow me, now."

Harry caught sight of Malfoy's awe-struck face as he left, walking numbly in Professor Hardcastle McCormick's wake as she stomped toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. There was nothing he could say that would weasel him out of this one. Professor Hardcastle McCormick was trotting along without ever looking at him; he had to jog to stay pace. He's done it now. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes time. Oh what the Drubblesnorts would say when he turned up on the doorstep — Still, he lasted longer than he initially guessed.

Up the front steps, up three marble staircase inside, and still Professor Hardcastle McCormick didn't say a word to him. She threw open doors and marched along corridors with Harry scurrying miserably behind her leaving a rather large trail of mud everywhere they went. Maybe she was taking him to The Dumbledoor? He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as custodian. Perhaps he would be getting Hagrid's job after all. He felt sick to his stomach as he envisioned it, watching Malfoy and the others becoming wizards, while he toiled around the grounds cleaning toilets.

Professor McCormick abruptly stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and stuck her long neck inside.

"I beg your pardon, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment? This is more important than lessons."

Wood? Thought Harry, befuddled; wood as in a stick she would beat him with?

But wood turned out to be a person, a scrawny little fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Walk this way, you two," said Professor Hardcastle McCormick, as she skipped on up the corridor, Wood eyeing up Harry along the way.

"In you go."

Professor Hardcastle McCormick pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy plastering slime on just about everything.

"Peeves!" she barked. She threw chalk at him, which went right through and turned into powder upon crashing against the wall. Peeves flew away, cursing. Professor Hardcastle McCormick slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood — I've found you a new MB."

Wood's expression altered from puzzlement to downright disgust.

"You can't be serious, Professor."

"Absolutely," said Professor Hardcastle McCormick sternly. "Harry's gifted, don't forget. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, boy?"

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on.

"He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor Hardcastle McCormick told Wood as she tossed him the Magic 8 ball. "Didn't break one bone. Theodor McMonocle couldn't even have done it."

Wood was now looking at Harry with great interest, as though all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's the El Capitan of the Gryffindor team," Professor Hardcastle McCormick explained.

"He's just the build for an MB, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light —speedy — we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor — a Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two or a Cheapskate Seven, I'd say."

"I shall have to speak to Dumbledoor and see if we can break the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a much better team than last year. Humiliated in that last match by Slytherin, Snape was in my face for weeks…"

Professor Hardcastle McCormick peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, even if it gets in the way of your studies or I may change my mind about punishing you."

"You mean… You mean I'm not being expelled?" Harry asked with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Professor McCormick smiled, "My word, we can't expel you. You're Harry Potter! What will the papers say if we did? No, you have the Potter Privilege. Just about a free pass to do anything I reckon."

"What about Malfoy? He was flying too…"

She raised her hand, "I'll be sending his father a pig and request that he give a very generous donation to the school library or else Draco will be expelled. Rich families like that don't have their children expelled either. Fame and fortune will get you far in this world, and you, Harry Potter, have both. That's why I'm giving you this job without holding formal tryouts."

Harry just looked up at her with a huge grin.

"You know your father played for Gryffindor too, but he was a mediocre Quidditch player at best." She said.

"Fancy that."

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor Hardcastle McCormick. Ron choked on a piece of steak and kidney pie when he heard the news. He then coughed several times and spit it out spraying one of the girls across the table.

"You made MB?" he said. "But first years aren't even allowed to — you must be the youngest house player in about —"

" — youngest player ever," said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. He felt the urge to splurge after hearing he wasn't being expelled.

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry for the next thirty minutes.

"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a hush-hush. I'm the new secret weapon I guess."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too — We're Baiters."

"I tell you, we're going to win the Quidditch Cup for sure this year," said Fred. "Gryffindor hasn't won a match in twenty years, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, or Wood wouldn't have had any excitement when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, need to help Lee Jordan smuggle a new shipment in through a secret passageway out of the school."

"A new shipment of what?" Ron asked.

"Well — that's need to know, isn't it? See you."

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when the next group of imposers turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabby and Goyle.

"Heard you're not being expelled, Potter. Is that true?"

"Yeah," Harry replied.

"Harry told me your dad had to pay off the school in order to not be expelled," Ron spitted out.

"At least I have money, Weasley. You're too poor to afford dirt."

"Oh yeah, well why don't we see how big a man you are without your little bodyguards around?"

There was of course nothing at all little about Crabby and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and growl.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. A Wizard's duel. Wands only — no contact. What's the matter? Afraid of a little dueling?"

"Of course not," said Ron, wheeling around. "Harry's my second, who's yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabby and Goyle, sizing them up.

"I shall also take Harry to be my second," he said. "Midnight? As is tradition? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other.

"Now what am I being roped into?" asked Harry. "And what do you mean, I'm your second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his fifth cold pie. Catching the look on Harry's face, he added quickly, "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most we'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of us knows enough magic to do any real damage."

"And what if he does kill you? Then I'll have to step in and fight him?"

"Yeah I suppose," Ron advised.

"Excuse me."

They both looked up. It was Hormone Granger, the girl Ron had spitted on earlier.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" Ron said with a mouth full of food.

Hormone ignored him and spoke anyway, "I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying —"

"Bet you could," Ron muffled.

"— and you mustn't go moseying around the place at night, think of the tremendous amounts of points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be since I'm squealing the moment you step out that door. It's really very selfish of you, you know."

"You won't tell. You have a vested interest in us not getting caught. Think of all those points. Good-bye," said Ron.

What a peculiar day it has been, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus talking in their sleep (Neville wasn't yet back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening blabbering about his strategy such as "If he tries to curse me, I'll just dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry would face expulsion yet again by breaking another school rule. On the other hand, this was his big chance to see Ron humiliate himself. He couldn't miss it. Plus, Professor Hardcastle McCormick told him he had "Potter Privilege" and couldn't be expelled anyway.

"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "We better skedaddle."

They pulled on their neon bathrobes, picked up their wands, and tippy-toed across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still sparking in the fireplace, making this a very dangerous place to be with all of the flammable rugs and tapestries about. They had almost reached the portrait hole when an armchair struggled to spin around and face them. "Ah ha! I can't believe you're actually doing this."

A lamp ticked on. It was Hormone Granger, wearing nothing but a neon pink bathrobe and a frown.

"You!" said Ron furiously. "I'm gonna kill you!"

With a wave of her arm, Ron's wand was disarmed.

"I told your brother," Hormone snapped, "Percy — I thought he was perfect, but he didn't believe you would do something so foolish."

Meanwhile Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so intrusive.

"Come on, let's go," said Ron picking up his wand. He shoved open the portrait of the Fat Bikini Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hormone wasn't going to stand down that easily. She yelled at them as they exited.

"You don't care about Gryffindor, you only care about yourselves. I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all those many points I got from Professor Hardcastle McCormick for snitching on those Viacom students."

"Bah! Go away."

"All right, but don't say I didn't warned you —"

They had closed the portrait of the Fat Bikini Lady behind them but found themselves facing an empty painting. She had evidently gone on a questionable nighttime visit.

Ron stated, "We've got to go, we're going to be late. Come on!"

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Harry tripped over something.

"Yeowww!" something said.

It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as Harry plowed into him.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Password' but it won't help you now, the Fat Bikini Lady's gone off on a booty call or something."

"How's your body now?" said Harry.

"Fine," said Neville, getting up. "Madam Pompom mended me in about a minute. Said I had twenty eight broken bones, a new record!"

"That so? — well, look, Neville, we've got somewhere to be, we'll catch you on the flip side —"

"No don't leave me here!" said Neville, grabbing Harry's robe, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's already messed with me twice."

Ron looked at his pocket watch and then glared furiously at Neville.

"If you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Boogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you."

Harry hissed at him to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.

They floated along the corridors sparkling with moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry panicked he'd run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were ever so fortunate. They zipped up a flight of stairs to the third floor and crept toward the trophy room.

Malfoy wasn't there yet. The cups, shields, plates, and statues on display winked silver and gold in the darkness. Harry winked back. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Ron took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes piled up.

"He's late, that or he's chickened out. Either way, I declare myself the victor!" Ron determined.

Then a clamor from the next room made them jump three feet into the air. Ron had cocked his wand ready to fire when they heard someone speak — and it sure wasn't Malfoy.

"Get a good whiff all around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to that freak of nature Mrs. Norris. Horrified, Harry waved madly at the others to follow him as quickly as possible; they scooted silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Ron's bathrobe had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room from the other side.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "I can smell their bath salts."

Everyone looked at Harry.

"W-what?" Harry shrugged. "This way!" He mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch gaining hot on their trail. Neville suddenly let out a frightened shriek and broke into a full run after saying he couldn't take it anymore — but smashed right into a full suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"Every man for himself!" Harry yelled, and the three of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following — they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going — they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and smashed through a locked door closing it hurriedly behind them.

"That Hormone!" Ron said to Harry. "You realize it, don't you? Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Hormone must have tipped him off."

Harry thought he was probably right, and they'd have to confront her later.

They could hear footsteps, Filch running fast trying to track the students before his sent trail had faded.

"We're done for! This is the end!" Ron panicked.

They pressed their ears against it, listening.

All they heard now was the sound of Filch cursing in rage.

"I think we've fudged him, he's not following us this way," Harry puffed, peering back through the keyhole. Neville was wheezing and spitting trying to catch his breath sitting on the ground while Ron closed his eyes in relief.

"He must not know about that secret passageway we stumbled upon," Harry whispered. "Oh what luck that was, lol. I think we'll be okay — get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the bottom of Harry's bathrobe from the floor. "What is it? Are you dying?"

Harry turned around — and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare — this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor! And now they knew why it was forbidden. For you see in this room was something so horrible, something so retched and mind-numbingly inconceivable that the students just stared at what they saw. And what they saw would haunt you for the rest of your days because what they saw should not exist. It had to have been some sort of freak magical accident conducted when doing magictific research by one of the teachers. It was the only explanation for why this thing, which will shortly be revealed, stood in front of them. It's just that — wherever it came from — it had to have had only one purpose for being here: To kill and destroy anything that crosses its path.

They were looking right into the eyeballs of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the entirety of the room before them. Only this daemon of a dog had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from three sets of yellowish fangs, convenient enough for one for each boy.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise. But it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

"NOPE!" Harry yelled.

He grobbled for the doorknob — between Filch and certain death, he'd take the Filch.

All three scurried through the way they came in — Harry slammed the door shut behind them.

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower!" said Harry, "as quickly as conceivable."

And they ran, they almost flew, back from whence they came. Filch must have scampered off to look for them elsewhere because they didn't see any sign of him, but as if they cared — all they wanted to do was use as much energy as possible to get back to their nice, warm, safe waiting beds. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Bikini Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders as they flashed some skin.

"Where have we been, she asks," Ron muttered, "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

"Touché," said the Fat Bikini Lady.

"Never mind that — password, password!" panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, outstretched on the floor.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron out of breath. "If they come asking for volunteer dog walkers, count me out!"

"Well, well well… look who came running back." Hormone was still awake and had horrible trouble spinning around her armchair once more, evidently waiting to see if the boys would return. "I must say I am impressed you were not caught."

"YEAH no thanks to you. You little snitch, Filch was all over us from the get go. I just know you squealed to him about us sneaking out!"

"Prove it," Hormone smiled.

"And I have you know that we were almost killed by a dog out there!" Ron added.

"A dog?"

"Hey this was not your ordinary run-of-the-mill pooch. It was gigantic and gruesome and had to be five stories high, no no eight!" Harry chimed in.

"And it had three heads!" Ron gave supplement Harry.

"How interesting. Well you're either making this all up or it must be there to guard something."

She stood up, glaring at them hands on her hips.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves, I am ever so disappointed you made it back here alive. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ron just stared in disgust.

"No, we don't mind," he said.

But Hormone had given Harry an inkling as he clambered back into bed. The hound had to be defending something… Maybe that was the entrance to Dumbledoor's office? No, that couldn't be it, how would Dumbledoor get past it in the morning? Wait, what had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide — except Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harry had stumbled upon where that oblong-shaped package from vault seven hundred and thirteen went and, Dumbledoor's new side business.


	10. Holloween Horror Nights

**CHAPTER THE TENTH**

 **Halloween Horror Nights**

The next day, Malfoy told Harry he didn't show because Filch had caught him on the way there.

"Now I've got detention for a month! Just isn't fair."

Harry and Ron also came to the conclusion over breakfast that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they had to have another one soon to get their fix. In the meantime, Harry blabbed to Ron about the package that was picked up from Gringotts, and they spent so much time discussing what could possibly need such heavy protection that they forgot to go to their morning lesson.

"It's either really expensive or really dangerous," said Ron.

"My guess is both," said Harry. "Has to be! How much you think we could sell it on the black market?"

But as all they knew for sure about the secretive item was that it was about two feet long. That wasn't much to go on, they would need further clues.

Neither Neville nor Hormone showed the slightest interest in what lay beyond the dog. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

Hormone was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, and she never quite believed their canine story to begin with. But since she was such an overbearing smarty pants they saw this as good thing.

Weeks went by, and not much worth noting had occurred. Ron and Harry where so obsessed with finding out what was in the package Hagrid had picked up from Gringotts that they spent many sleepless nights reading over books and newspaper clippings in the Gryffindor common room missing many meals and several classes.

One morning though as the pigs stampeded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried in by six large hogs. Harry, who just managed to make this breakfast after skipping the previous six, was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel and was amazed when the pigs came up and hoisted it right into his lap, knocking his bacon to the floor which they quickly ate. The bacon slices had barely touched the floor when another pig jumped on top of the pig pile and sneezed a letter out of its snout on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter and the first thing it said was:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE!

It encompasses your new Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tomorrow morning on the Quidditch field at six o'clock for your first training session. And remember Potter: DON"T SCREW THIS UP!

Have a magical day,

Professor Hardcastle McCormick

Second-in-Command Headmistress

Harry had forgotten all about Quidditch and sure didn't feel like devoting precious time to practice when there's a mystery to be solved.

Ron, who just happen to make breakfast also, caught a glimpse of the letter. "A Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two! I've never even fondled one!" Ron proclaimed so loudly that half the hall, which was already watching Harry and his package, put on confused and envious faces.

They left the Great Hall quickly, feeling a brawl coming on. Outside they found the way upstairs barred by Crabby and Goyle taking a breather. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

"Whatcha got there Potter? Say that's a broomstick," he said. Malfoy then sniffed the package. "A Nincompoop Two Thousand And One by the smell of things."

"Two Thousand And TWO!" Harry said with a smile.

Malfoy tossed it back with a mixture of a jealous and congratulatory look on his face. "Oh very nice, Potter, but first years aren't allowed them. How'd you smuggle it in? Lee Jordan? "

But Ron, who was fidgeting, couldn't resist it.

"BRAH HAHAHAHAH," he said, "It's a Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two alright! What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comrade Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Harry. "Comrades look all flashy, but they're firewood compared to a Nincompoop."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't even afford the commemorative plate on the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose with your net worth you couldn't even afford one twig."

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

"Take it outside, boys, if you're going to fight." he squeaked.

"Professor, how come Potter's been allowed a broom? I tried to send three my way but have been confiscated each time," said Malfoy wanting an explanation.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, smirking at Harry. "Professor Hardcastle McCormick told me all about the special conditions, Potter. You're on thin ice, my lad. And what model is it?"

"A Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two it is," said Harry "And it's really all thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he added.

Harry and Draco batted eyes at each other.

"Thanks, pal!" said Harry as he patted him on the back.

Harry and Ron then headed upstairs, leaving Malfoy in a bit of a confused state while Ron was in a jealous fit of a mood after the affection Harry showed Draco.

"Well, it's true isn't it?" Harry argued as they reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he didn't want to play catch with Neville's Magic 8 Ball I wouldn't be on the team…"

"So you suppose that's some sort of trophy for breaking the rules?" came an angry voice. Hormone was right in front of them with her hands on her hips Pan style, looking judgmentally at the package in Harry's hand.

"Darn right I do! I'm Harry "The Main Man" Potter! Rules are for you nobodies. And I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.

"Yeah, see you're breaking your own rules," said Ron. "Here, have this half eaten biscuit as a trophy."

Hormone made a noise then marched away with her nose very high in the air.

"Yep, be a good little girl now and follow your own rules and never talk to us again, goodbye…"

Harry dumped the broom off in his room and then carried on with his day where he continued to have a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons. It kept wandering off to what mystical thing lay beyond the dog or thinking how much he despises that brat Hormone or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd have to wake up super early just so he can slog his way through practice the next morning. After dinner that evening, he finally caved to Ron's pesky demands of wanting to check out his new broom and was dragged upstairs by him to unwrap the Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two at last.

"Holy sweepers!" Ron exclaimed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread.

Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, taught twigs and Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two written on a golden commemorative plaque near the top. "Limited Edition 1 of 3" it said on the bottom. Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked like a broom and began sweeping the floor as it was starting to get rather filthy. Ron had a conniption about this.

At 5:45am the next morning, Harry woke with an angry grunt. He left the castle only half awake and set off in the dawn toward the Quidditch field. This would be his first peek at the stadium. Thousands of seats were elevated in stands around the field so that the onlookers were high enough to see what was going on, even though only a few hundred attended the school. Harry would later find out that Quidditch matches were a great excuse for all the old Alumni of the school to come back, get drunk, and be coursed by Dumbledoor to write vast dotation checks in their mentally weakened state. At either end of the arena were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of those pull string toys he was never allowed to play with as a kid, except that they were fifty feet high. He wondered what secrets the field would reveal to him if he managed to yank one out.

Bored waiting for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling — he instantly became fully awake and swooped in and out of the goal posts only banging his head once. The Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch and was super sensitive.

"Harry Potter, come on down!"

Oliver Wood had made his entrance. He was dragging a hefty wooden crate behind him, messing up the grass. Harry landed next to him.

"Morning Wood."

"Nice, I see what you did there." said Wood, annoyed.

"Did what?" Harry replied.

"Oh err…. I see what Hardcastle McCormick meant… you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this morning, then you'll be joining team practice which we have twelve times a week."

"Sorry, did you say twelve?"

"That's right Potter. Nothing is more important than Quidditch. Nothin'! And if you don't think so then I want you to walk right off this field now and never come back."

Harry began to head towards the castle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Wood quickly in a panicky sweat. "I was only teasin'. Come back, please…"

Harry did an about face.

Wood gave a sigh of relief and then bent down to unlock the crate. Within its depths were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is pretty darn easy to understand, but only the real men survive when it comes time to play. Each team throws out seven players onto the field. Three of them are called Chasers."

"Three Chasers," Harry repeated like a parrot as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a kickball.

"This guy's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers heave the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to notch a goal. One point every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Got that? I hate repeating myself."

"The Chasers throw the red thing around and put it through the circles to score," Harry recited. "So — it's kinda like basketba….

"Don't interrupt."

"Sorry."

"Now, each side also gets what's called the Keeper — I'm Keeper for Gryffindor and I fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring at all costs."

"Four Chasers, one Keeper," said Harry muttering to himself. "And they play with the Waffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?" He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I will demonstrate now," said Wood. "Take this."

He handed Harry a small club, like the kind cavemen had.

"These little buggers are the Bludgers."

He tapped two identical balls, jet black and to some extent smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be wiggling around trying to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"On guard," Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball smacked Wood right on the head and rose high in the air. But soon it changed direction and made a beeline straight for Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the club to stop it from breaking his nose but he completely whiffed and it smashed into his forehead knocking Harry off his feet. It zoomed around their heads a few times more and then shot at Wood, who tackled it to the ground.

"What'd I tell you?" Wood puffed, shoving the hostile Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers zoom around and try to beat up the players. That's why you have two Baiters on each team — the Weasley twins are ours — it's their job be the bait and distract the Bludgers away from our Chasers and get them to go after the other team as well. So — think you've got all that?"

"Three Racers score with the red ball; the Keeper guards the holes; the Baiters beat the Bludgers towards their team," Harry reeled off trying to hold back his now bloody nose.

"Umm, you'll get it soon enough," said Wood.

"Er — have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asked.

"Oh yeah, happens all the time. Last one here at Hogwarts was about three years back. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing really worse than that since I've been playing. Now, the last and most important member of the team is the Master Baiter. That's you."

"I'm a Master Baiter? Sounds important."

"It very much is. It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it."

Wood's hand dove into the crate and revealed the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large golf ball. It was made of dazzling gold and had little flapping silver wings.

"This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most imperative ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Master Baiter's job to grab it. You've got to move in and out of the Chasers, Baiters, Bludgers, and the Quaffle to get it before the other team's Master Baiter comes and beats you to it, because whichever MB catches the Snitch wins his team an extra twenty thousand seven hundred points, so they nearly always win. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages — I think the record is like three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. But that's why Master Baiters are so relieved when they finally get a hold of it because the game is over and they pretty much just won."

Harry nodded.

"Well, any questions?"

Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was going forth and doing it that was going to be the problem.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "Let's try you out with a few of these."

He pulled out a cage from a bag full of little baby birds and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the birds as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to go and catch as they tried to fly off.

Harry only missed two, Wood was overjoyed. After half an hour, it was time for breakfast and Wood was starving.

"They might as well just give us the Quidditch Cup right now," said Wood as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you became our long term Master Baiter."

Maybe because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice five evenings a week and then seven times in the morning on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly accept it when he realized that he'd been at Hogwarts two whole months. People at the castle felt more like his species than those creatures on the private drive ever had. His lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that he was starting to understand the basics, though Harry still struggled through many areas.

On Halloween morning they woke to the awful smell of burnt pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even worse, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that they would be graded on how well they make objects fly, something the students had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville zoom around the classroom. But it turned out to be far more difficult than it looked. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice before the big test. Harry's partner was Seamus Finnigan (which was a relief, because Ron was being especially annoying this week). Ron, however, was to be working with the Hormone. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hormone was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to either of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived.

"Professor Flatchick," Neville questioned, "Um, will this test be worth a lot of points?"

"Class, we've been here two months and some of you still don't know my name!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual, ignoring Neville's question. "Flit and wick, remember, flit and wick. And saying magical words properly too is very important — let's not ever forget Wizard Baruffio, who said his 'L's like they were 'R's and found himself inside the belly of a dragon."

Wizards with lisps usually end up killing themselves inadvertently somehow. It was only a matter of when, not if.

Making things levitate turned out to be extremely difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked their wands every which way, but the slice of bacon they were supposed to be sending skyward stayed motionless. Seamus got so irritated that he picked it up and ate it like a ravenous dog — Harry had to salvage the crumbs from his mouth.

Ron, at the next table, wasn't doing much better.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his wand frantically.

"You're saying it wrong," Hormone said snobbishly. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, you have to pronounce each syllable distantly."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hormone rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Nothing happened.

"Psh, even the great and powerful Hormone can't do everything," Ron snapped.

And in a fit of rage, Ron tried one more time and said intensely, "WINGIDIUM LEVISOSA!"

Their bacon rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Mr. Weasley's done it!"

Ron was in a great mood by the end of the class.

"Wow, you really showed her Ron," Harry said.

"Yeah, glad to do it. It's no wonder everyone hates her," he said back to Harry as they shoved their way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hormone. Harry caught a glimpse of her face — and saw that she was in tears.

"I think she heard you."

"Nah," said Ron. "She started to tear up right after I showed her how it's done. Guess she's a sore loser and can't take the fact that I did something before she could."

Hormone was a no-show for the next class and wasn't spotted all afternoon. Racing down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hormone was crying in the girls' bathroom and sought to be left alone. Ron looked giddy at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall where the Halloween decorations put Hormone out of their minds.

A hundred thousand live bats fluttered around the room with many swooping down to attack the students every so often. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, just as it had at the start-of-term banquet and every nightly grand nightly feast since.

Harry was just helping himself to a big ol' candied apple when Professor Quirrell came bursting into the hall in such a dramatic fashion that you would have thought he'd been practicing it for weeks. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledoor's chair, slumped against the table, but cocked his head half way around so that the students could also hear him say, "Troll — in the dungeons — thought I'd relay the news."

He then sank to the floor in a melodramatic faint. A couple students clapped in amusement.

Professor Dumbledoor began shooting several purple firecrackers from the end of his wand until the fire alarm was triggered and began drenching everyone with water.

"Perfects," he rumbled, "get your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy was in his element.

"It's go time! Follow me! Stick together, you first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm perfect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they clambered out into the dryness of the corridor just outside the Great Hall wringing out their clothes as they walked on.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "I bet you Peeves let it in for a bit of Halloween fun."

They passed different clusters of people dashing in different directions. As they jostled their way through a horde of confused Hufflepuffers, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.

"I've just thought — Hormone."

"What about her?"

"She doesn't know about the troll."

Ron bit his lip. "So? Let her fry if it comes to it." And he shoved off Harry's arm.

"You're right, it's not worth risking my life to save hers. Better play this one safe."

On the way up the stairs, Harry caught a glimpse of Professor Snape. He was not with the other teachers heading down into the dungeon but instead was very shifty heading towards the third floor.

"Ron look, where's she off to?"

But they had no time to investigate further, Harry was thinking of nothing but his own safety and rushed to Gryffindor Tower as soon as he could.

Shortly after their arrival, what remained of the feast, soggy dishes and all, appeared before them in the Gryffindor common room. Harry was drying out the cornbread by the fire some time later when Hormone stepped through the portrait hole followed by Professor Hardcastle McCormick. Hormone looked completely ravaged, like she had just been through a tornado with all kinds of stuff sticking in her hair and robes.

"The troll has been neutralized, you can all stop worrying," Professor Hardcastle McCormick stated. "This one," she put her arms around Hormone, "was found in a pile of rubble in the girl's bathroom. She appears to be alright, only slightly shaken. I still say you were lucky child, not many first years would live through a full-grown mountain troll assault. As for Percy, you obviously left a student behind and two points will be deducted from Gryffindor."

"Awwwww," Percy groaned from the corner.


	11. Sports Go Sports

**CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH**

 **Sports Go Sports**

As November arrived, the weather took an extream turn for the worst. Gone were the days where Harry would frolic in the posey fields after his lessons. The mountains around the school became desolate and icy gray and the lake turned to chilled coffee. Every morning the ground seemed to gain another few inches of snow, and were up to 43 inches now. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows digging his way out of his hut each morning, bundled up in a long Dalmatian overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous dolphinskin boots muttering to himself as he went.

Quidditch season had officially launched. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of endless training: Gryffindor vs Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would be guaranteed to be second place in the house championship after just one game.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept secret. But the news that he was a Master Baiter had leaked out somehow. Harry figured it was Ron as he had a tendency to blab about Harry's secrets and knew all about Harry being a Master Baiter. He even snuck out and watched Harry practice a few times. Harry didn't know which was worse — people telling him he'll be great at Master Baiting or people giving him a noose and saying to get it over with beforehand.

Harry did gain some leverage over Hormone however. After the troll incident, he approached her with a proposal: She do all of his homework and in return he will act as her friend. She was ever so pleased to do this. He didn't know how he'd have gotten through all his assignments without her, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. She had also lent him Quidditch: Game of Death, which turned out to be a very interesting read.

Harry learned that there were twelve popular ways of committing suicide during a Quidditch game and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473 which went on for days on end in a horrible blizzard with unspeakable temperatures; that Master Baiters were usually the least stressed players although most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that people died a lot playing Quidditch beyond the suicides or sometimes would simply vanish and turn up months later in the Outback or other random places.

The day before Harry's first Quidditch match Harry, Ron and Hormone were out in the freezing courtyard having a smoke break. They were standing around a trashcan fire, trying to stay warm, when Snape traversed the yard. Harry spotted at once that Snape was struggling mightily with a limp. Harry, Ron, and Hormone moved closer together to block the cigarettes behind their back; they didn't want Snape joining in with them. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the cigs, but he seemed to be looking for a cause to talk to them anyway.

"What's that you've have there, Potter?"

It was Quidditch: Game of Death. Harry shoved it in his face to see.

"Books are not allowed in the school courtyard," said Snape. "Give it to me. Fifty points from Gryffindor."

"She just made that rule up," Harry muttered furiously as Snape slowly hobbled away, laughing. "And what's the deal with her leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting her," said Ron bitterly. Most of the student body by now had decided to continue to call Snape a woman.

The Gryffindor common room was very crowded that evening. Harry, Ron, and Hormone sat together awkwardly in a window. Hormone was doing Harry's Charms homework for him. "How will you ever learn?" she kept asking Harry, but by asking her to read it aloud when she finished, he thought he got the gist of it.

Harry felt restless jammed between the other two in the window seat. So he hatched a plan to get Quidditch: Game of Death back from Snape. Why should he be afraid of her? Getting up, he told Ron and Hormone that he was bored and would rather go ask Snape if he could have the book back.

"Better you than me," they said together. Harry still thought that Snape might refuse regardless of what he said, but it was worth a try even if it's just to get away from these two for a while.

He ran down to the staffroom, random people patting him on the back and applauding as he went, which he was used to this sort of treatment by now, and knocked. There was no answer. He banged a lot harder. Nothing.

Perhaps Snape had just dumped the book in there? It was worth a shot. He pried open the door and peered inside – and a horrible scene met his eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his waist. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was on his knees in front of him.

"Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "Never works when you want it to. This is the last thing I need after what happened to my leg on Halloween."

Harry tried to shut the door quickly, but —

"POTTER!"

Snape's face was twisted in fury as he dropped his robes quickly. Harry gulped.

"Uh, I want my book back."

"GET OUT! OUT! "

Harry left, before Snape could rip Harry a new one. He dashed back upstairs.

"Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry walked in. "What's the matter with you?"

In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.

"You know what this means?" he finished out of breath. "She's definitely all man. And… he tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween! He's after whatever it's safeguarding! And I'd bet my Nincompoop he let that troll in, to make a distraction!"

Hormone rolled her eyes.

"No he wouldn't," she said. "I know she's… _he's_ not very pleasant, but he wouldn't attempt to steal something from the Dumbledoor."

"Honestly, Hormone, teachers aren't paid that much. You'd expect them to pull off something like this," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what was he doing with Filch?"

Harry went to bed, his head buzzing with the same question. Neville was snoring loudly so Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind — he needed sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours – but seeing Snape with his robes pulled up wasn't easy to forget.

The next sunrise came up very bright and was plenty cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried cheeses and the chatter of everyone placing bets on the day's Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hormone, trying to shove the bread in Harry's mouth.

"I'm not hungry," said Harry as he batted Hormone's hand away.

Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field to play a game he didn't really like in the first place. He especially didn't want to play today, now that there where new developments in solving what's behind door number one. Or in this case dog number one.

"Harry, you'll want your strength," said Seamus Finnigan. "MBs always get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks for the reminder," said Harry, watching Seamus pile on the ketchup for his sausages.

By eleven o'clock the entire school was out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch fighting the cold. Many students already contracted some sort of frost bite. Since the seats were raised high in the air, the wind chill factor was atrocious.

Ron and Hormone joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean in the West Ham Fan Club section in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Ron had ruined in his sleep. It said Potter Loves Pandas, and Dean, who was not very good at drawing, had done a large panda head underneath. Harry had revealed this secret late one night and regretted it ever since. Hormone had even performed a tricky little charm so that the panda winked every so often.

"Hagrid!"

Ron and Hormone really had to squeeze together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

"Was gonna watch from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "But then I realize I can' see nutin' from thar."

Meanwhile, in the bathrooms below, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).

Wood cleared his throat several times for silence.

"Okay, men," he said.

"Hey what about me?" said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

"Figure of speech," Wood emphasized. "Alright, this is it."

"This is big one," said Fred Weasley. "The one I've been waiting for all my life!"

"We know your speech by heart," George said, "It's the same stupid thing every year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team the school's ever seen, simply because we have our new weapon of the gods, Harry Potter. We're going to win, and win big league. By the time the season is over you'll be so sick of winning. This I can promise you."

He glared at Harry as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, and may the magic be with you."

"And also with you," everyone replied except Harry, who did not know he needed to do that.

Harry followed Fred and George out onto the field. All of the snow had been cleared earlier that morning by Larry's Dragon Rentals. And, while hoping his nose wasn't going freeze off when he hit the wind, heard tremendous applause as his name was announced.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for Gryffindor to walk up, her broom in her hand.

"You're late! Well let's get started, I want a nice clean game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to Wood. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the flapping banner up above, displaying Potter Loves Pandas over the crowd. His heart skipped. He just knew he was going to regret that.

"Brooms at the ready."

Harry scrambled onto his Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two.

Madam Hooch gave a loud toot on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an attractive Chaser that girl is, I'd love it if she grabbed me like that and —"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

Lee Jordan was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor Hardcastle McCormick.

"And she's really looking stunning up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet and — no, the Slytherins have intercepted the Quaffle, Slytherin El Capitan Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying with dragon rage up there — Keeper Oliver Wood dives — misses — SLYTHHERINS SCORE!"

Slytherins cheers filled the cold air, with moans from Gryffindor.

Just as the Slytherins had scored, Harry dodged a Bludger high above the match which almost smashed dangerously into his head. Then it happened. His broom gave an abrupt, unsettling lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to plunge off it. He gripped the broom securely with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that, maybe he'd been sent a factory reject?

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him. Did Nincompoop Two Thousand And Twos suddenly decide to kick their riders off? Did Harry make it feel bad somehow? Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal-posts — he was going to ask Wood to call time-out — but the broom wouldn't budge and was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

"Now what der ya suppose Harry's doin'? Is that sum sort o' new strategy?" Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom…"

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then it continued to zig and zag all over the place once more.

Hagrid said, his voice soft. "Somethin' funny's afoot. Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except deeply powerful Dark magic —"

At these words, Hormone snatched Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started frantically panning at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Hormone gasped, "Snape — look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

"He's doing something — jinxing the broom," said Hormone.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me."

"Where do you think you're going? Harry will be dead by the time you get over there," Ron replied.

But it was no use, Hormone was already fighting her way down the stands. Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was now vibrating so hard, it was impossible for him to hang on any longer. With the whole crowd on its feet, Harry was thrown off the sweeper like a cowboy at a rodeo. Down, down, down he went tumbling towards the ground.

A Slytherin, Adrian Pucey, had just landed to grab a drink of water when he was cast in shadow. He had just enough time to glance up to see what was causing this when Harry Potter fell squarely on top of him, breaking Harry's fall. Adrian lay on the ground twisted in pain while Harry lay a few feet to his right and felt fine except for a piercing sting digging into his back.

Harry got up and looked at the ground. There right where he landed was the Golden Snitch, its wings crumpled to pieces nearby. He must have landed on it when he hit the ground. Harry picked it up, held it high above his head to show the crowd and yelled, "I've got the Snitch!" with thunderous applause coming soon after.

"I, Harry Potter, will be the greatest Master Baiter the world has ever known! I, Harry Potter, am GOD!" he yelled over the cheers and howls from the standing ovation. Harry never felt more alive.

"He didn't catch it, he nearly destroyed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later as they carted off Adrian to the hospital wing, but it made no difference — Harry hadn't broken any rules even if he did break the Snitch's wings and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results — Gryffindor had won by twenty thousand seven hundred points to one. Harry heard none of this though as he bolted out of there as quick as he could so he wouldn't be mobbed by the crowd storming the field. He was now being made a cup o' strong cheddar back in Hagrid's hut, with Ron and Hormone.

"It was Snape I tells ya!" Ron was explaining, "Hormone and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you, and I don't think it's because he finds you handsome."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Who doesn't find Harry here handsome?"

Harry, Ron, and Hormone looked at one another.

"I've got some dirt on him," Harry told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped his cheese cup and it splattered all over the floor.

"How do you know about Fuzzy?" he said.

"Fuzzy?"

"Yeah — he's mine — bought him off a chap I met in the pub las' year when he was jus a wee little pup. Didn' tell me he was a magical abomination from an experiment gone wrong an' would grow ter fifty feet. But when the little bugger did, I lent him to Dumbledoor to guard the —"

"Yes?" said Harry impatiently.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is. An' I'm jus terrible at keepin' secrets."

"But Snape's trying to rip it off!"

"Hogwash, tha' is," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts fellow, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and have Harry bumped off? Quite literally." cried Hormone.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have convinced her mind that Snape was one bad dude on a murder spree for anyone who got between him and the thing Fuzzy was guarding.

"You're looking at the foremost expert on jinxes, Hagrid, I've read all about them! So that means I know one when I see one. You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him! I took off to try and stop it but couldn't get over there before Harry fell."

"I'm livin' in a cuckoo clock!" said Hagrid hotly. "I can' tells yeh why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape ain't no murderer! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh — yer meddlin' in things that are way above yer heads. It's downright dangerous! You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', leave tha' between Professor Dumbledoor an' Nicolas Flamel —"

"Aaaaha!" Harry exclaimed loud, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid slapped himself hard in the face.


	12. The Dumbledoor

**CHAPTER THE TWELFTH**

 **The Dumbledoor**

Christmas is coming. By mid-December, Hogwarts found itself covered in thirty feet of snow. The lake froze completely solid killing many, many merpeople and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowmen that followed Quirrell around, throwing snowballs at him whenever he turned a corner or opened a door. The few pigs that did manage to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail, like true post pigs should, had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again. Some, though, didn't recover and were served as breakfast bacon the next morning.

Everyone wanted to just get this term over with. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall were nice and toasty with roaring fires, most of the corridors had terrible drafts and became icy and cold, including the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath produced small ice crystals that fell before them with each exhale. They kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons, but it really was no use.

"I do feel oh so sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, "for all those people who will not get at least twenty gifts for Christmas because they are poor."

He was looking over at Harry as he spoke and gave him a wink at the end. Crabby and Goyle giggled, Ron looked grim. Harry, who was measuring out powdered water, thought Malfoy was beginning to sound an awful lot like Bubba. This made Harry smile, as for the first time in his life, he would not be spending Christmas with the Drubblesnorts. Malfoy saw this however and was mistakenly flattered thinking Harry liked his remark.

But it was true that Harry wasn't going back to the private drive for Christmas. Professor Hardcastle McCormick had come around the week before, making a list and checking it twice of students who would be sticking it out for the holidays and Harry had signed up enthusiastically. This would probably be the gosh darn bestest Christmas he'd ever had as "Spend Christmas without the Drubblesnorts" had been at the top of his Christmas list for as long as he could remember. Ron and his brothers were staying, too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie and were too poor to take the whole family.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree lodged in the only door out of the chambers which would take them back to the main castle. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud grunting sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

"Hagrid, you're blocking the way." Ron asserted, sticking his head through the branches.

"I know, I know, I'm movin' as fast as I can, Ron."

"Good of you move this thing out of the way, Weasley." came Malfoy's high pitched voice from behind them. "It's valuable experience, good practice for when you become custodian yourself when you leave Hogwarts. I suppose that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Ron came out of the branches and gave Malfoy a stiff uppercut just as Snape came up the stairs.

"WEASLEY!"

Ron fell back against the wall while Malfoy rubbed his jaw.

"Fighting is against Hogwarts rules," said Snape furiously. "Five hundred points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along… move along."

Crabby and Goyle ran full blast into the tree and pushed it roughly through, scattering needles everywhere.

"Well worth it," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back as he walked away.

"Oh don' be a Grinch, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tells yeh what, help me with this here tree and I'll let yeh sneak a peek at the Great Hall, looks a mighty fine treat."

So the three of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, helping when it got stuck another five times along the way and leaving a hefty trail of pine needles in their wake and sap all over their hands. Professor Hardcastle McCormick and Professor Flitwick were already in a restless state putting up with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, at last the last tree — put it in the far corner, would you? And please turn the good side out, looks like most of the branches are bare over here."

The hall looked remarkably outlandishly absurdly spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe crisscrossed across the room, and no less than a hundred towering Christmas trees lined the walls around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles, which were swiftly switched out with glittering ornaments when one of the trees caught fire shortly after Harry & the gang arrived. It really did feel like a woodland critter type of Christmas in the forest.

"How many days you got left until yer done with all yer school nonsense?" Hagrid asked.

"Just the one," said Hormone. "And that reminds me — Harry, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should stop helping here and hightail it to the library."

"Oh yeah, you're right," said Harry, dropping a big box of ornaments he was holding for Professor Flitwick. A small shattering sound came from within.

"The library?" said Hagrid, bolting out of the hall with them before Professor Flitwick noticed the box. "Just before the holidays? Bit o' nerds, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, it's not for school," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been desperately trying to find out who he is day and night. You people can do all sorts of wonderful magic but you couldn't even figure out the usefulness of a internet search."

"Inter-what?" He shook his head, "Listen here you fools — I've told yeh — drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know the entire public history of Nicolas Flamel, that's all," said Hormone.

"Why don't you just spill the beans and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We must've been through thousands of books already and we can't find him anywhere — just give us a hint — I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm not sayin' nothin' to nobody, not no how," said Hagrid flatly.

"Well just you wait, we're going to find out one way or another! Come on peeps," said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled as they skipped off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in Legendary Wizards of Epic Twentieth Century Battles, or Noteworthy Names of Non-Muggle Folk; he was missing, too, from Modern Magical Findings That Went Viral, and A Report on the Freshest Developments in Wizardry, although Harry Potter was prominently placed in every one of them. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows. Harry cursed many times loudly about how wizards don't even have the capabilities of a simple search engine.

Hormone took out a roll of parchment with a seemingly endless list of titles she had meticulously captured when they first started their search and picked up where she last left off. Ron, on the other hand, took the brute force approach and strode off down a row of books pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry usually just supervised, but today he wandered over to the Restricted Section and gazed longingly at its shelves through the gate. He had been speculating for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. But alas, you needed a specifically signed memo from one of the teachers to gaze at any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never get one. So he wondered if there was a way to forge one. These were the books comprising of powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced defenses against the Dark Side of the Force.

"What are you looking for, boy?"

"Nothing," said Harry.

Madam Prince the librarian waved a feather duster at him, making Harry cough as she spoke.

"Boy, I see you in here every day for hours. And you say you're looking for 'nothing', ha! You're up to something and I don't want any part of it. You'd better get out, then. Go on — out!"

Harry felt defeated, so he left the library. He, Ron, and Hormone had already settled on not asking Madam Prince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but the threat of Snape hearing what they were up to was all too real.

Harry waited on a bench outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found anything, but he wasn't very optimistic. They had been looking for ages with nothing to show for it. What they really needed was for Madam Prince to be called a way for a while, so she wouldn't be breathing down their necks all the time. A dead aunt, perhaps.

Ten minutes later, Ron and Hormone joined him, panting and shaking their heads. Hormone fixed her hair while Ron adjusted his robes and they went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you? I expect results." said Hormone. "Pig me if you find anything."

"And you could probe your parents about Flamel," said Ron. "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, they're both janitors," said Hormone.

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry partied like it was 1999 and didn't have time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than normal, so they were able to snag the good armchairs by the fire for once. They sat by the hour eating anything they could get their hands on — bread, pizza, butter sticks, beef jerky, chocolate truffles, nachos, bacon-wrapped mini corn dogs, marshmallows — and plotting ways of getting Neville expelled without him knowing, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron also started teaching Harry Dejarik. This was sort of like chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and beaten. Like all other possessions he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family — in this case, his gramps. However, having old Dejarik Men wasn't entirely a drawback. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted, including getting them to sneak out to the kitchens for more food.

Harry played with the Dejarik Men Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and they didn't trust him at all. They could smell his fear and knew he wasn't a very good player and they kept yelling out different bits of advice to him, which was confusing. "Don't send me there, can't you see his Acklay? Sacrifices must be made, send him and be rid of him!"

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed bloated and full of chicken nuggets. He was not expecting any presents because who would send him one? When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was Ron hovering over him a bit too close.

"Happy Christmas Harry," Ron whispered awkwardly inches from Harry's face. Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe.

"You too, uh, I guess," said Harry. "Well kiss my grits! I've got some presents!"

"Well what did you expect, coal?" said Ron, diving into his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry's.

Harry of course did not get any presents for anyone else. Why should he? He was treated like a king here, and kings don't get gifts for their subjects, they only receive them.

Harry selected the parcel on the summit of his pile. It was wrapped in toilet paper and scribbled across it was what Harry thought to be To Harry, from Hagrid. Within what seemed like a whole roll was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had clearly carved it out himself. Harry blew it — it sounded like it didn't work.

A second, very undersized parcel contained a note.

Received a message you won't be home for Christmas. Tis quite a shame, oh darn. Enclosed is your Christmas present.

From Uncle Vern and Aunt Petunia.

Taped to the note was a coupon for a buy one get one bagel at a local grocery store by the private drive.

"That's thoughtful," said Harry.

Ron was fascinated by the coupon.

"Intriguing," he said, "So you just take this to the store, buy one bagel and they'll give you a whole second bagel at no charge? WOW!"

"You can keep it," said Harry, laughing at how enthralled Ron was. "So Hagrid and my aunt and uncle know I'm alive — but who sent these?"

"I'll bet you my free bagel I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing shakily to a very lumpy parcel. "My mums. I told her you didn't expect any presents and not to get you any but —," he groaned, "she's gone and don't it, hasn't she. She's made you a Weasley legwarmer."

Harry had torn into the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted pair of legwarmers in emerald green and a rather generous supply of homemade pretzels.

"Every year she makes us legwarmers," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's always polka dot."

"That's nice of her," said Harry, trying the pretzels, which were very stale.

His next present also contained food — some sort of salty nut snack from Malfoy.

"Ron, I couldn't help but notice that wizards celebrate Christmas," Harry stated.

"Oh yeah, what gave it away?" Ron said sarcastically with a mouth full of chocolate frogs one of his brothers had given him.

"It's just that, does that mean wizards believe Jesus is their Lord and Savior?"

"Hahahahaha!" Ron laughed. "No, of course not. Jesus was real, yeah. But he was just a normal wizard like you and me. He was one of the first to try and teach muggles magic, healing the sick, turning water into wine — you know, basic stuff like that. Except it didn't work out all too well did it? Some muggles thought he was a god, others were scared and even tried to crucify him. Of course that didn't work either, cuz he knew how to fake his own death. Over time, the Muggles jotted down all these crazy made up stories in what they call the Babble —"

"The Bible," Harry chimed in.

"Yeah that, anyway we Wizards learned our lesson from his experience and have refused to help Muggles ever since. But all the while the myth of Jesus grew more and more, kinda funny actually, Muggles thinking he's some sort of god and all."

"So why give each other gifts on Christmas?"

"I guess it's to symbolize Jesus trying to give Muggles the gift of magic. And it just sort of became a tradition."

"Oh how interesting," Harry nodded.

There was only one sad looking parcel remaining for Harry. He picked it up and shook it. It was very light, he wondered if whoever sent it had forgotten to include a present, so he unwrapped it.

Something gold and shiny dropped to the floor and rolled over in front of the fire. Both Harry and Ron bent down to get a closer look when a bunch of strange scribbles appeared inside the golden ring. Ron choked on a bean from his box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hormone.

"I've heard of those," he said in a raspy voice after Harry saved his life with the Heimlich Maneuver. "If that's what I think it is — they're really really rare, I'm talking extremely valuable."

"That so?"

Harry picked up the ring off the floor. It was cold to the touch, like holding an ice cube.

"That's an invisibility ring that is!" said Ron, the blue now slowly fading from his face. "I'm sure it is — try it on."

Harry put the ring around his finger and Ron gave a yell.

"Eeek! It is! Look down!"

Harry looked down at his feet, but they weren't there. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, he had no reflection, his body was completely invisible.

"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note in the parcel packaging! Harry! Look! Look! There!"

Harry pulled off the ring and seized the letter from Ron's hands. Written in narrow, loopy writing like he had never seen before were the following words:

I stole this from your father the night he died.

It's about time it was returned to the rightful owner.

With it, you can rule them all. Use it well.

Merry Christmas you filthy animal ;-)

There was no signature to be found. Harry ogled at the note. Ron was fondling the ring.

"I'd give anything for one of these," he mumbled to himself. "Anything. So precious. Imagine the possibilities. Too bad Hormone isn't here, I'd... What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the ring? Had it really once belonged to his father? It must have, he once had a dream about this very object. What sort of shenanigans did he do with it?

Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was kicked open and Fred and George Weasley scrambled in uninvited. Harry stuffed the ring quickly under his pillow. He didn't want to share it with anyone else.

"Happy Christmas!"

"Hey, look — Harry's got some Weasley legwarmers, too!"

Fred and George were wearing blue legwarmers, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G.

"Harry's is superior to ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's feet. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not in the family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely warm."

"I hate these things," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he threw his into the roaring fire.

"What's all that racket?"

Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, supported lumpy legwarmers over his legs, which Fred bent down and grabbed to get a better view.

"P for perfect!"

"I — don't — want — you — messing up my leggwarmers! Mom's put in a lot of time on these." said Percy thickly, as he tried to release Fred's grip on his feet, knocking his glasses askew.

They wrestled for a bit until Percy finally got away and left the room.

Harry had never in all his life had such a lunch. A hundred fat, roasted turkeys; mountains of roast beef and boiled potatoes; platters of poultry; buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – all made especially for the eight students that stayed behind. Ron had sat at the complete other end of the table and ate his way closer to Harry.

Flaming Christmas puddings and all-you-can-eat chocolates followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickie someone dropped into the peanut butter cup batch. Harry watched Hagrid get redder and redder in the face as he called for more and more wine, finally kissing Professor Hardcastle McCormick on the lips, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed and went in for another.

Harry saw enough at this point and didn't want to see where that was going, so he left the hall. But not before he was given his own new Dejarik set on the way out by one of his Hufferpuffer admirers as a Christmas gift.

Harry and the Weasleys spent a wretched afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds that started when Harry asked who their mom liked the most. Then, cold, wet and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room where Harry broke his new Dejarik set before he could even play a game with Ron. He predicted he would have won dramatically if Percy hadn't put his feet up accidently right when he walked by.

After yet another meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, chili dogs, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much more except sit and stare at the ceiling while sprawled out all over the common room floor. Percy was even too tired to freak out when he realized Fred and George had stolen his perfect badge.

It had been Harry's best day ever. Yet the best was yet to come. Not until he climbed into bed did he remember his most ludicrous gift: the invisibility ring.

Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him, fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Harry reached under his own pillow and pulled the ring out from under it.

His father's… this had been his father's. Was it his wedding ring? No, he would have been invisible at the altar. He rubbed the outside edge over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Rule them all, the note had said.

He had to try it, he had to try it now, the ring called to him. He slithered out of bed and slipped on the ring. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and dust bunnies. It was a very funny feeling.

Suddenly, Harry was wide-awake. It just dawned on him that the whole of Hogwarts was open to his exploration. A tremendous feeling of power flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know. Girls would never know. Dumbledoor would never know he snuck into his office. He could wander into the forbidden forest or mess with Snape. Steal upcoming exam questions, sneak food out from the kitchens or covertly gather information on his enemies for blackmail. The possibilities were endless.

Rule them all.

Ron grumbled in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? No, this was his ring — he wanted to keep its use to himself.

He tiptoed out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole after tripping over Percy, who was still there on the ground but did not wake up.

Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. Snape's office. He'd be able to snoop around as long as he liked, as long as it took to find some dirt on him. He set off, grasping the invisibility ring tightly around his finger as he walked.

The dungeons were pitch-black and very creepy. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of chains. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the heebie jeebies.

Snape's office was near the back of the dungeon. Breaking the padlock with a crowbar he took from Hagrid's hut, he stepped through the door and began rummaging through files on Snape's desk.

They didn't tell him much. So he started poking around the room which had jars everywhere filled with strange things. Their peeling, faded gold labels spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no label at all. One had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck tickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the jars, as though it knew someone was there.

Setting the lamp down carefully on the desk, he looked along the shelf for an interesting jar to steal. A large black one caught his eye. He unscrewed the lid with difficulty and reached in to pull out what was inside.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence — it was a human head! Harry had pulled it up by its hair. It looked very old and very mad. Harry shoved it back inside the jar, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward knocking over the lamp, which shattered and lit the files atop Snape's desk on fire. He heard footsteps coming down the corridor above him and began to freak out — so he ran for it. He passed Filch in the corridor just outside; Filch's pale, wide eyes looked straight through him at the fire which was growing to the nearby shelves. Harry streaked off up and out of the dungeons, the head's shrieks still ringing in his ears.

He came to a sudden halt in front of large painting of a fat bikini lady. But it wasn't his fat bikini lady in front of the Gryffindor common room, this was someone else. He had been so busy getting away from the fire, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all and was totally lost.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if there was anything suspicious going on. And well sir, it's just that there's a fire sir, in your office."

Harry felt the blood drain completely out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must have taken a shortcut and Harry the scenic route, because his lax, oily voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, Snape was there with him, "My office? What in tarnation? Let's go! Not a moment to lose!"

Harry made a beeline to the nearest classroom but the door was locked. He couldn't risk being smelt or worse bumped into. He jiggled the doorknob vigorously and to his luck the door sprang open and was relieved to get inside without their noticing. They ran straight past, Harry leaned against the door and slouched down, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. It was several minutes before he noticed anything about the room he had taken refuge in.

It was all very unusual. The dark shapes of tables and chairs and sofas were piled against the walls, and there were several boxes stacked together – but propped against the wall facing him was something that really looked as if it didn't belonged there.

It was a magnificent door standing tall within its own golden-oak-stained wooden frame, with four large L brackets holding it up. There was an inscription carved around the top: Dumble stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. With his panic fading, Harry moved nearer to it, with a strange desire to open it. He turned the knob and pulled open the door.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the head-in-the-jar had screamed — for a whole crowd of people where clambering to come through.

He slammed it shut. Harry walked around to the other side, but there was nothing there. He opened it from that end and pushed. Nothing. It was just the other side of the room. He walked through and closed the door behind him. Breathing very fast, he turned back around slowly and opened the door once more, this time only a crack big enough so that he could peer through.

There were at least ten others who perked up and started heading towards the door once more. A woman got to the door first who stopped just before and began smiling at him and waving. Harry opened the door fully now, and tried to put his hand through but was stopped by some sort of invisible shield, much like glass but far clearer. Harry walked around to the other side again but saw nothing but the room from the opposite side – she and the others existed only from the one side of the door.

She was a very pretty woman and Harry started to get the hots for her. She had dark red hair and her hips —her hips are just like mine, Harry thought, pressing his face up against the barrier. Exactly the same figure, but then he noted that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. A tall, thin, black-haired man came up next to her, put his arm around her and shook his head at Harry in disappointment. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back Alfalfa style, just as Harry's did.

"Wait, mom?" he whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at him then slowly nodded. Harry looked into the faces of the other people approaching the doorway, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who had Harry's swagger— Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the barrier as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them.

"I — I'll try to get you out!" Harry said then began kicking the obstacle.

It was no use, so he walked over and grabbed the nearest wooden chair and smashed it against the barrier. That proved fruitless too, as the chair just shattered into many pieces.

How long he stood there, he did not know. The people on the other side never spoke but he looked and looked until the sunrise pierced through the window and electrified the room, which brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here forever, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face stating, "I'll be back," and hurried from the room.

"You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly.

"You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to prove I'm not crazy."

"I'd like to see your mom and dad," Ron said eagerly. "But how are we both going to go? There's only one ring."

"Hmmm…," Harry contemplated. "Well maybe it will work if we both hold hands. I mean, my clothes turn invisible, maybe it's because I'm touching them."

Harry put on the ring and grabbed Ron's hand, who too completely disappeared as they confirmed in the mirror.

Later that morning at breakfast, Ron and Harry were still discussing what the door actually was. "Maybe it only shows dead people? Hey speaking of people I'd like to see dead, you heard about Snape's office? They say it all burnt up in a tremendous fire last night. Even went up some vines on the outside of the castle and got Quirrell's office as well, poor fellow. Couldn't care less about Snape though.

"Oh, that a fact?" Harry said with shifty eyes.

Harry couldn't any more eat. He had completely forgotten about the fire. It didn't seem very significant anymore. Still, it didn't stop Harry from having a guilty face.

"Are you all right?" said Ron. "You look odd."

What Harry dreaded most above anything was that he might not be able to find the room again. He was always terrible with directions. Holding hands with Ron, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They had been wandering around the dark passageways for nearly three hours.

"I'm beginning to think you made the whole thing up," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."

"No, no!" Harry hissed. "I know it's here somewhere."

They passed Hagrid and Professor Hardcastle McCormick giggling and smelling of wine coming from the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his feet were frostbitten with cold ("Then you shouldn't have thrown your legwarmers in the fire!"), Harry spotted the new fat bikini lady.

"It's here — just here — YES!"

They pushed the door open. Harry tore off the ring and ran to the mysterious door and opened it.

There they were, just where he left them. His mother and father glanced up at the sight of him.

"See?" Harry whispered. "Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them…"

"Whoa! Look at all the gold!" Ron said.

"You mean you can't see my family standing around?"

"No — just loads of gold coins — more than I could count — probably could swim in it if I wanted to — can we go in this thing?"

"WHAT?"

"Oh, there seems to be some sort of barrier here, too bad. Hey and look there's the Quidditch cup on top of a pile — says Quidditch El Capitan Ronald B. Weasley, R.N., world champion. WOW!"

Ron yanked his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harry.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it? All my family are dead —

"Haha! Oh yeah…"

"Move out of the way and let me have another look —"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

"You're only staring at immense riches, what's so interesting about that? I want a better view of my parents."

"Don't push me —"

A slapping match ensued until a sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to that. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been fighting.

"Quick!"

Ron grabbed Harry's hand just as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door to the room. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing — did cats have a good sense of smell? After twenty six minutes, she turned and left.

"This isn't safe anymore — I'm sure she went for Filch. Come on."

And Harry pulled Ron out of the room, jealous of what Ron had seen.

Snow came and piled on another foot by the next morning.

"Want to play Dejarik, Harry?" said Ron.

"Certainly not."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"

"No way… What if Professor Hardcastle McCormick is still there?" Harry said half-heartedly. His mind seemed to be drifting.

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that bloody door. Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad vibe about it — and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. With Filch and Mrs. Norris snooping about, so what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? Or smell you? Or what if you knock something over? You know how clumsy you are."

"You sound like that wrenched Hormone."

"I sound like a sane person, Harry, don't go."

But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mystical door, and Ron wasn't going with him anymore.

That third night he found his way more speedily than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't care.

And there were his mother and father staring at him again, and one of his grandfathers doing a happy jig. Harry sank down to sit on the floor with his new unhealthy obsession. There was nothing to stop him from staring at his family all night. Nothing at all.

Apart from —

"Well well — back again, Harry?"

Harry felt his insides turning to ice. He jarred his head around. A light flicked on. Sitting on one of the sofas by the wall was none other than Schoolbus Dumbledoor himself. Harry must have strolled straight past him, so desperate to get to the door he hadn't noticed him.

"I — I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how shortsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledoor, and Harry was worried to see that he was wasn't smiling.

"So," said Dumbledoor, "you, like thousands before you, have been exposed the delights of The Dumbledoor, named after my family of course. Though it is more like we were named after it, that is."

"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."

"You see, all of the things in this room are my belongings, Harry. I brought them here temporarily when the rent to my Hogsmeade storage unit skyrocketed. Of course I never thought a student would stumble upon The Dumbledoor, but then again here we are. I expect by now you've realized by now what it does?"

"It — well — it shows me my family —"

"And it presented your friend Ron with a world of gold."

"How did you know —?"

"I don't need a ring to become invisible," said Dumbledoor, as if it was also a stern warning for the future. "Now, can you think what The Dumbledoor shows us all?"

Harry shook his head, "I've got nothing."

"I'm disappointed in you Harry. Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use The Dumbledoor like any other door, that is, he would open it and see the other side exactly as it is. Does that help?"

Harry contemplated. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want… what we really really want…"

"Yes and no," said Dumbledoor unhappily. "It shows us nothing more than the deepest, most desperate desire of ours. You, who have never known your family, see them loitering around. Ronald Weasley, who has always been pathetically poor, sees a mountain of riches. However, this door will present us with neither knowledge or truth. Many men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad. I can't tell you how many times I've opened my storage shed only to find a corpse in front of it. I've intervened just in time, Harry. Or you too would have joined the ranks of the insane."

"The Dumbledoor will be moved to a new secret location tomorrow, Harry, and dare I say one that even the likes of you will never be able to reach. I ask that you not to go looking for it again. It doesn't do anybody any good to dwell on impossible dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put on that troublesome ring and head back to bed before I call Mr. Filch?"

Harry stood up.

"Yes sir — Professor Dumbledoor sir. Um — can I ask you something?"

"Well obviously stupid, you've just done so," Dumbledoor chuckled. "But you may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you open the door?"

"I? Well, that's not for young ears to hear. Might not even be legal in some jurisdictions..."

Harry stared.

"Sometimes one can never have what one desires," said Dumbledoor. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I still didn't get what I really wanted. People keep insisting on giving me blasted books."

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledoor was one odd fellow indeed.


	13. Nicholas Flameball Flamel

**CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH**

 **Nicholas "Flameball" Flamel**

Dumbledoor had successfully persuaded Harry not to go looking for The Dumbledoor again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the invisibility ring was taken out only when he wanted to steal more food from the kitchens. Harry wanted to forget what he'd seen in the door, but he couldn't. He started having nightmares about his family. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents just standing there looking disapproved, all while his grandpa's high voice cackled with laughter.

Hormone, who came back late the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between shock & awe at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row (Harry didn't tell her about the ring), and frustration that he completely whiffed on finding out who Nicolas Flamel was.

They had pretty much lost all hope of ever finding Flamel, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books every second they could during their breaks but their optimism was long gone. Harry put in less time than the other two, because Quidditch practice had started again and he was thankful for it.

Wood was pushing the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his determination. The Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a tyrant, but Harry was on Wood's side, he didn't want to spend his time looking for Flamel if he could avoid it. Besides, if they won their next match, against Hufflepuffle, it would guarantee themselves a spot ahead of Slytherin in the house championship for the first time ever since Slytherin lost to Hufflepuffle a few weeks prior.

Then, during one extremely wet and cold practice session, Wood dropped a rather large bomb of news. He'd just gotten very angry with the Weasleys, who kept flying up and slapping him on the backside of his head.

"Will all you stop messing around!" he yelled. "That's precisely the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! I just got word this morning that Madam Hooch had won the Wizard's Lottery and flew off to the tropics. Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to prevent Gryffindor from winning!"

George Weasley slapped himself on the head at these words.

"Snape's refereeing?" he choked. "What are his qualifications to referee a Quidditch match? He's going to prevent us from overtaking Slytherin, just you watch!"

The rest of the team started to complain, too.

"Hey, it's not my fault it was Hooch's lucky day," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play this one by the book, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."

The rest of the team continued to practice, but not Harry. He snuck off to the Gryffindor common room, where he found Neville and Hormone playing Dejarik. Dejarik was the only thing Neville ever won at, for whatever reason he had a commanding grasp of the rules.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Hormone when Harry sat down next to her, "I need to concen—" She caught sight of Harry's face.

"What's with you? You look terrible."

"I need to talk to you, now!" Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her to an empty corner.

Speaking softly in Hormone's ear, Harry told her about Madam Hooch's sudden good fortune and Snape's sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," said Hormone at once. "Here, I'll even break your leg," as she took out her wand.

"No, no," said Harry. "Nobody else knows how to Master Bait. If I pull out, Gryffindor will lose for sure. Hey by the way, why aren't you looking for Flamel? You're always drilling me how I need to—"

At that moment Ron toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once to be the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower.

Everyone fell over laughing until Hormone performed the countercurse. Ron's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, wobbling. "What happened to you?" Hormone asked him, still giggling.

"Malfoy," said Ron irately. "I ran into him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

All that laughing made Harry hungry. He felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a melty Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the sweet cart he had bought way at the beginning of the year.

Harry glanced at the Famous Wizard card.

"Drat! Dumbledoor again," he said, "He was the first one I ever —"

Then it hit him like a wrecking ball. He gawked at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron and Hormone.

"I've found him!" he yelped. "I found him! Halejullia! I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here — listen to this: 'Dumbledoor is practically perfect in every way. Particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Adolf Hitler in 1945, for the discovery of his twelve uses for human blood, and his work on alchemy with his BFF, Nicolas Flamel'!"

Hormone hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten that massive essay assignment from Professor Flitwick.

"Stay here!" she said, and she sprinted out of the common room. Harry and Ron exchanged mystified looks then talked about the weather for several hours before she came dashing back in with an enormous old book in her arms.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library."

"What took so long?" said Ron, but Hormone gave him that 'never you mind' looked while she began flipping frantically through the pages, then muttered to herself.

At last she uncovered what she was looking for.

"I knew it! I knew it! I knew it the whole time!"

"If you knew it the whole time, why didn't you look here?" said Ron grumpily. Hormone ignored him.

"Nicolas Flamel," she interrupted dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Bone!"

This didn't have quite the tantalizing effect she'd expected.

"The what, now?" said Harry.

"Oh, honestly, don't you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth? Look – read that, there."

She shoved the book toward them, and Harry and Ron read:

The ancient study of alchemy is connected with making the Sorcerer's Bone, a legendary item with astonishing powers. The Bone has the power to turn wood into gold and when dropped in water with another secret ingredient it produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. The Bone is also rumored to make the holder resistant to bug bites.

Only one Sorcerer's Bone is known to exist which currently belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and chocolate lover. It was produced one day during a freak laboratory accident Mr. Flamel was conducting in his alchemy studies. Sadly, the accident claimed his right arm which then in turn became the Sorcerer's Bone. How Mr. Flamel discovered his severed arm's magical secrets is anyone's guess. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Kent with his wife, Kristi (twenty two).

"What I tell ya?" said Hormone, when Harry and Ron had finished. "The dog thing must be guarding Flamel's Bone! I bet he begged Dumbledoor to keep it safe for him, because they're BFFs and he got a hot tip that someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Bone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A bone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry. "Ha, no wonder Snape's after it! I want it too!"

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Report of the Freshest Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly fresh off the presses if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

As the next Quidditch match match drew nearer, the idea of surpassing Slytherin in the house championship was wonderful, none of the houses had done it for several years, but would they be permitted to, with such a biased referee?

Harry didn't know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to keep running into Snape wherever he went. In the hallways, in the courtyard, in the bathroom… He was convinced Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions lessons were turning into a weekly round of torture, Snape was so nasty to Harry. Could Snape possibly know he was the one who had set fire to his office? Harry didn't see how he could — yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

Harry knew when they wished him good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon that Ron and Hormone were not expecting to ever see him alive again. This wasn't exactly what you'd call reassuring. Harry completely ignored Wood's pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch robes and picked up his Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two.

Ron and Hormone, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had both brought their wands to the match. Little did Harry know that Ron and Hormone had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Ron, and were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to injure Harry. Though, Harry would later question what good that would have done if Snape was on a broom.

"Now, don't forget, it's Lockylocklock Leggins," Hormone muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve for lighting fast access.

"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't insult me, woman."

Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Harry aside.

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we lose, you're off the team."

Harry gulped.

"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out of the door. "Blimey — even Dumbledoor's come to spectate!"

Harry's heart did a cartwheel.

"Dumbledoor did you say?" he said, dashing to the door to make sure it was for real. Fred was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.

Harry LoL-ed with relief, he was safe. There was simply no way in a million years Snape would dare to try to hurt him with Dumbledoor looking on.

Perhaps that was why Snape looked so livid as the teams marched onto the field. He blew his whistle and the game began.

Harry flicked his hand at a bug buzzing around his ear before he took off. But when his hand came back, he realized it wasn't a bug at all, it was the Golden Snitch! Harry had inadvertently grabbed it when he swatted. He raised his arm in triumph, the Snitch clasped firmly in his hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

"Ron! Ron! The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hormone, jumping up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.

Harry dismounted his broom, he didn't even make it off the ground. He couldn't believe it. He'd done it — the game was over; it had barely lasted two seconds. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped — then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledoor's smiling face.

"Well done," said Dumbledoor quietly, who then faded back into the crowd.

Snape spat bitterly on the ground and gave Harry a cold stare down.

Harry left the locker room alone some time later after taking a nap to take his Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two back to the broomshed. Apparently the excitement of the win got him so worked up that it made him sleepy, and he found an opportune moment to sneak away from his team while they were changing. He located a quiet nook in the shadows and past out for a few hours. But now on his way across the lawn, reflecting back on what had transpired earlier, he couldn't ever remember feeling happier. Well, except for the time he was told the heaps of gold in the Gringotts vault belonged to him — his Quiddich win is a solid second to that. He'd really done something to be proud of now – no one could say he was just a famous name any more, from now on he'll be known as the boy who accidently caught the Snitch. He tasted sweet victory yet again, and it only made him hungry for more. He trampled over some daffodils on his way to the shed, reliving the game in his head, which was a total drunken blur, Gryffindors running to lift him onto their shoulders like the Quiddich God he is.

Harry approached the shed. He leaned against the wooden door for a breather, it was quite the hike from the Quiddich field. He looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor is in the lead. He's the top dog now, he's conquered this school. He'd shown Snape who's boss…

And speaking of Snape—

A hooded figure came prancing down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it ran faster than you would have thought possible toward the forbidden forest. Harry's conquest faded from his mind as he surveyed the situation. He knew at once that there could only be one possibility for who this was: Snape. No one else would be sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner — what was going on? Harry needed to investigate, he felt it was his duty.

He jumped back on his trusty Nincompoop Two Thousand And Two and took off. Gliding without a sound over the castle he saw Snape running into the forest. Harry followed his prey.

The trees were so thick he lost Snape almost instantly. He flew in circles, panicking about what to do, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. Relieved, he glided toward them and landed in a towering beech tree.

Below, in a shadowy pond of water, stood Snape, but he wasn't unaccompanied. Quirrell was there, too. At least, Harry thought it was Quirrell because whoever it was was stuttering worse than ever. Harry stretched out his neck to catch what they were saying.

"… d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus. Th-th-the danger's quite real you kn-know…"

"Oh, I thought we'd spice things up a bit," said Snape, his voice icy. "Besides, there's no point in living if you can't feel alive. Out here there are plenty of prying beasts yes, but no prying students. They aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Bone, after all."

Harry leaned forward with great interest. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

"Have you found out how to get past that abomination of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I —"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, poking him several times in the chest.

"I-I don't know what you—"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

A pig oinked loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, "— your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't —"

"Have it your way," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little heart-to-heart session soon, when you've had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie."

He threw his cloak over his head and stomped away, splashing the shallow water all over the place as he went. It was very dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still in the pool of water as though he was petrified.

"Harry, where have you been?" Hormone squeaked.

"You won! You won! You won!" shouted Ron, smacking Harry on the butt. "Talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a get-together, Fred and George stole all kinds of cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that now, not now, not now," said Harry breathlessly meeting up with them in a corridor. "Boy oh boy, let's find an empty room, just you wait 'til you hear this…"

He made sure Peeves left after being sprayed with slimey green goo and shut the door to the nearest room the found behind him, then he told what he'd witnessed.

"So we were dead-on, it is the Sorcerer's Bone, and Snape's trying to blackmail Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fuzzy — and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus' — I reckon there are other things guarding the bone apart from Fuzzy, loads of enchantments, probably. Fuzzy is only stage one and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Side of the Force spell that Snape needs to break through —"

"So you mean the Bone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said Hormone in alarm.

"It'll be gone by tomorrow," said Ron.

"Guys, guys, guys," Hormone said. "We should go to Dumbledoor about this. He'll take corrective action, we should have gone to him ages ago when we first suspected something's up."

Harry and Ron both just stared at her.

"No," Harry finally stated. "We uncovered this conspiracy, I'm not going to Dumbledoor until we've seen this thing through to the end. I'm taking Snape on myself, who's with me?"

Harry put his hand in the air, Ron's hand soon joined his. Hormone eventually came around and put hers up too so that they formed a pyramid.

"Yeah," Harry smirked.


	14. How To Train Your Dragon

**CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH**

 **How To Train Your Dragon**

Quirrell, however, must have had more balls than they'd thought. Snape was still hanging around so it would appear as though he hadn't cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron, and Hormone would sneak through the tapestry and press their ears to the door to check that Fuzzy was still snarling inside. Whenever Harry passed Quirrell these days he gave him an encouraging smile and a pat on the back, and Ron started leaving books on how to stand up to bullies behind in his classes.

Hormone, however, had more important things on her mind than that silly old Sorcerer's Bone. She had started drawing up rigorous study schedules and color coding all her notes. Harry and Ron wouldn't have minded, but she kept screaming at them to do the same.

"Hormone, the exams are ages away."

"Ten weeks!" Hormone snapped. "That's not ages, that's right around the corner."

Ron yawned, "Why are you even studying? You already know it's going to be an A."

"Why am I studying? Are you insane? You realize we need to pass these exams with flying colors to get into the second year? They're very significant, I should have started studying four months ago, I don't know what's gotten into me…"

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking right up Hormone's alley. They stacked on so much homework the Easter holidays weren't exactly what you would call a holiday. The Annual First Years' Easter Egg hunt was the only bright spot, a tradition at the school. Though many of the students complained that Harry cheated when he used his broom to zoom around and collect many more eggs than the others. It was also hard to relax with Hormone next to you reciting the twelve uses of human blood or practicing wand movements hitting you in the head every so often. Moaning and whining, Harry spent most of his free time in the library with her, trying to get her to do all his extra work.

"I'll never get through all of this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing quill down in frustration and stomped off towards the window in anger. It was the first really fine day they'd had in months and being cooped up inside all the time got to him. The sky was a clear, cornflower blue, and the air gave a hint that summer was coming.

Harry, who was bored out of his mind looking up random plants in One Hundred Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi, didn't look up until he heard Ron say from across the room, "Hagrid! Why on Earth are you in the library? I thought you couldn't read."

Hagrid shimmied into view. He looked very out of place in his Dalmatian overcoat.

"Oh, err, ah… Jus' pokin' 'round," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. "An' what're yer up ter?" He looked tremendously suspicious. "Yer not still lookin' fer that blasted Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out his little secret ages ago," said Ron triumphantly. "Your ghastly dog's guarding the Sorcerer's Bo—"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. Madam Prince squinted at them from her desk. "Don' go a shoutin' about it so all o' England can hear yeh, what's the matter with yeh?"

Hagrid slapped Ron upside the head.

"We are going to ask you some more questions about it, and there's nothing you can do to stop us," said Harry as he approached with Hormone, "about what's guarding the Bone apart from Fuzzy —"

"SHHHH!" said Hagrid again, flailing his arms every which way. Sweat began forming around this face. "Listen — come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go gabbin' about it to others, no one s'pposed ter know yer know. They'll think I've spilled the beans —"

"Well you did. But we'll see you later for some more beans," said Harry.

Hagrid got out of there before Madam Prince could confront him.

"I'm going to snoop and see what section he was in," said Ron, who'd long given up of working any more that day. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

"Dragons! It's Dragons I tells ya!" he cried. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Sorts of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, One Hundred And Fifty Seven Ways A Dragon Can Kill You And Your Family; How To Train Your Dragon 2."

"Hagrid's always wanted a pet dragon, he was quick to tell me so the first time I ever met him," said Harry.

"But it's against the law!" said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Gentlemen's Agreement of 1709, everybody knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden — anyway, you can't train dragons, contrary to what the movie says, it's dangerous. Half of Charlie's body got burned off while working with wild ones in Romania."

"Are there dangerous wild dragons in Britain?" asked Harry.

"Of course there are!" said Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic goes through an awful lot of trouble to keep them a secret, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget. Part of the whole Social Engineering Department."

"So is Hagrid looking to change jobs and apply to Social Engineering?" said Hormone.

The others sat there in thought.

When they banged on the door of the cusodian's hut an hour later, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called "Who is it?" followed by the cock of a shotgun before he let them in, and then slammed the door quickly behind them after giving one more peak outside to make sure they weren't being followed.

It was unbearably hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a raging fire in the grate. Hagrid made some cup o' cheddar and offered them tuna sandwiches, which they firmly refused except Ron.

"So — yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes," said Harry. There was no point in beating around the bush. "We would have come months ago, but the daily grind of school demoralized us and we just kept putting it off, you know how it goes. Anyway, we were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Bone apart from Fuzzy."

Harry took out a large sheet of parchment and a quill to take notes, Hagrid frowned at him.

"O' course I can't," he said. "Number one, I don' know meself, I'm jus' a lowly old custodian. Number two, yeh know too much already, I could have yer locked up if I wanted ter. Tha' information is classified. The Bone's here fer a reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts — I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all. Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fuzzy."

"Oh, come on, Hagrid, they stumbled into his room while out exploring. You might as well tell us, you know everything that goes on round here and it's impossible for you to keep a secret. We'll crack you eventually," said Hormone in a warm, flattering voice. Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was trembling in sweat. "We only want to know who had done the guarding, really." Hormone babbled on. "We want to know who Dumbledoor trusts enough to help him, apart from you."

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron winked at Hormone.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that… let's see… he borrowed Fuzzy from me… then some o' the teachers did security enchantments… Professor Sprout — Professor Flitwick — Professor Hardcastle McCormick —" he ticked them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell — an' Dumbledoor himself did somethin', and o' course Professor Snape."

"Snape?!" They all yelled.

"Yeah — I think that's ev'ryone who showed up ter last month's Bone Defender Council meeting. But yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Bone, he's not about ter pinch it."

"But that's exactly what someone who wanted to steal the Bone would do!" Harry snarled, his blood now boiling.

Harry wasn't sure Ron and Hormone were smart enough think the same thing he was. "Are you guys pondering what I'm pondering? If Snape had been in on protecting the Bone, it would have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knows everything — except, it appeared, Quirrell's spell and how to get past Fuzzy."

"You're the only one who knows the secret of how to get past Fuzzy, aren't you Hagrid?" said Harry impatiently. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even in a million years?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledoor," said Hagrid proudly, pounding his chest.

Harry muttered something to the others in a quick huddle.

"Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm sweltering," Ron said leaning back.

"No can do, sorry," said Hagrid. Harry noticed him give a short peek at the fire. Harry looked at it, too.

"Hagrid — what in tarnation is that?!"

In the very epicenter of the fire, underneath the kettle, was what looked like a huge green & white Yoshi egg.

"Umm…," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his thumbs, "That's — er…"

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg which almost sheared his eyebrows off. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Ay, tha' it did. Me entire life savings, 'n fact," said Hagrid. "Las' night, I was down in the village havin' a few pints an' got into a conversation with a stranger. Said he had in his possession a dragon's egg an' would be happy ter sell it ter me, fer the right price o' course. Tha's when I offered him all I had, fer fear someone else would put in an offer before I could seal the deal."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said Hormone.

"Well, I've bin doin' some research," said Hagrid, pulling a large film reel from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library —How To Train Yer Dragon — it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers light the nest on fire, see, an' when it hatches, feed it a bucket o' vodka mixed with chicken wings every half hour. An' o'course — how ter diagnose diff'rent eggs — what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're really rare, them!"

He looked very satisfied with himself, but Hormone didn't.

"Hagrid, you live in a timber hut. Shall I call upon the fire brigade now to stand by for the inevitable?" she said.

But Hagrid acted like he wasn't listening, as he was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if this thing hatched in his sleep and burnt the place to the ground.

"Wonder what it's like to have a docile life," Ron sighed, as evening after evening they struggled through more and more of the extra homework they were getting. Hormone had now started making study schedules for Harry and Ron, too. And each time one was given to them, they were quick to toss it into the fire. It was driving them nuts.

Then, one breakfast, Pigwiggy brought Harry another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: It's emerging.

Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go immediately down to the hut. Hormone wouldn't hear of it.

"We've got lessons, we'll get detentions, and that's nothing compared to what will happen to Hagrid once someone finds out what he's doing and they drag him off—"

Ron and Hormone argued all the way to Herbology and in the end, Hormone refused to skip class. Harry and Ron though dropped their trowels at and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid appreciated them coming, looking flushed and in deeply need of help.

"It's nearly out." He shuffled them inside.

The egg was lying on the table, wiggling around. Something was stirring inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it which reminded Harry of a lighter.

They all drew their breath and watched.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg exploded open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table, mucous flying everywhere. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like an ugly rat with wings. It had a long wide face with wide nostrils, and two huge green eyes with horns from its back to its nose.

It coughed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout and set Ron's sleeve on fire.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured setting down the bucket which a moment ago was filled with water and was flung in Ron's direction. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It dug its teeth into his fingers and wriggled them around.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid.

"Hagrid," said Harry, "you're bleeding. How fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow anyway?"

During the next week Harry, Ron, and Hormone spent all of their free time in Hagrid's charred hut, trying to reason with him.

"Just let him go," Harry urged. "Set him free into the world."

"I can't," said Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

They looked at the dragon. It had grown ten times its length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his custodial duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. Many toilets remained clogged which caused long lines for bathroom breaks between classes. There were many empty vodka bottles and chicken bones all over the floor. Hagrid kept sucking on one of the bottles himself.

Hagrid cleared his throat like he had something important to say. "I've decided to call him Norbert," said he, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?"

The dragon scurried in the other direction towards some chicken wings that were not fully eaten of the bone.

"Honestly, he's absolutely bonkers," Ron sputtered in Harry's direction.

"Hagrid," said Harry loudly, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be longer than your house."

Hagrid bit his lip.

"I — I know I can't keep him for eternity, but I can't jus' dump him off on the side o' the road, I can't."

The next day, Ron was bitten by Norbert while trying to clean out the litter box after Hagrid insisted he was sleeping. By their first class, Ron's bitten hand had swollen to three times its usual size. He didn't know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pompom — would she recognize a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green and he started to develop dark red spots all over his body. It looked as if Norbert's fangs were now poisonous. Harry and Hormone rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state in bed, wailing in pain.

"I told her it was a bug bite, not sure if she believes me," Ron grinned with a dazed look on his face. "But if I die, promise me one thing. Promise me Harry! Get rid that thing in Hagrid's hut before it has the taste for mammal blood. And I want you Harry to have all of my worldly possessions, except for Mr. Stuffles, I want to be buried with him."

Harry and Hormone didn't know who or what "Mr. Stuffles" was, but they got out of there before Ron could say any more crazy things. Later on in the common room, Harry suddenly had a brilliant idea on what to do about Norbert.

"Why don't we just slaughter the thing! You know, sneak into Hagrid's hut when it's sleeping and throw it off the tallest tower or something. Poof, no more dragon!"

"Brilliant!" said Hormone. They got to work planning out a plan.

The next night found Hormone and Harry sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. They stared into the fire contemplating on what they were about to do.

They looked at one another.

"Ok, so we've got the invisibility ring," said Harry. "It shouldn't be too difficult – and you already planted the crate outside Hagrid's hut, yes?"

"Put it there just after dusk while everyone was at dinner," Hormone confirmed.

Harry felt he had no choice but to reveal the existence of the invisibility ring to Hormone, as it was essential to their plan.

"Perfect, let's move out!"

Harry slipped on the ring and grabbed Hormone's hand. They exited the room and made their way to the front entrance of the castle. Malfoy was there, waiting.

"What's he doing here?" Hormone whispered.

"Oh yeah, he wanted to come watch after I told him what we were about to do during supper, I didn't think it would be a big deal if he was able to meet us here."

Harry had forgotten all about inviting Malfoy to tag along. He had mentioned it in passing at dinner while Hormone was off planting the crate. Said he was going to kill a dragon and that Malfoy could come along if he could make it to the front entrance by midnight as he seemed quite interested in this.

A lamp flared.

Professor Hardcastle McCormick, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, came quickly out from around the corner and instantly spotted Malfoy.

"Detention!" she shouted and pointed at Malfoy, who was startled. "And two hundred points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you —"

"You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter — he's got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on — I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

She grabbed him by the ear and stormed off.

Harry and Hormone, who remained invisible, just stood and watched the ordeal. When Professor Hardcastle McCormick's lamp light was out of sight, Harry gave a "huh" noise and they headed out of the castle and across the lawn towards Hagrid's hut.

It was a very dark, cloudy night, with the dew already emerging on the grass. They slipped quietly towards the darkened hut, which meant that Hagrid was probably already asleep inside. They grabbed the crate hidden away near some bushes and approached the front door. Hormone used her unlocking spell and they slipped inside, still holding hands and remaining invisible.

How they managed to get the dragon in the crate, they never knew. But lucky for them, it drank the sleeping potion Hormone had cooked up with great gusto.

Once safely back outside again Harry dropped the crate and took off his ring.

"Ok, change of plans. We can't toss this thing off the tower anymore, too many teachers roaming the halls as we've seen. We'll have to take it into the forest and kill it there."

"The forest?" Hormone repeated. "We can't go in there at night — there's all sorts of things in there — werewolves, I heard."

"We don't really have much of a choice now, do we? Besides, I know the perfect place — that pond where I saw Snape and Quirrell."

He grabbed an ax leaning up against Hagrid's hut and pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they crossed into the forest. The woods were black and silent. Then a sudden rustle in the bushes ahead of them made them almost drop the crate.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight shown through the clouds and lit the path ahead of them. They walked on through the thick, dense trees. Harry kept twitching nervously over his shoulder. He had the nastiest feeling they were being followed.

They walked past a mossy tree stump. Harry could hear running water; "Nearly there!"

Harry panted as they reached the pool of water where Harry saw the secret meeting.

"Man I'm out of shape," said Harry as he and Hormone dropped the crate near the water's edge. "I think it's still asleep. Why don't you open the lid and slide it out by its head there."

Harry pointed near a rock. Hormone did as she was told.

Harry lifted the ax above his head.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!"

SWOOSH!

The deed was done. Several birds took off from branches around them. The dragon's head was now slowly floating towards the center of the pond, blood pouring out of its neck heading in the same direction. Harry and Hormone had a moment of happy silence. Their problems were now solved, and not to mention probably saved Hagrid's life in the process. They then drug out the rest of the body and pushed it to into the water. Hormone dismantled the crate and scattered it around the forest to remove all the evidence and Harry tossed the ax into the pond with a splash.

They gave each other a high five and headed back out of the forest to return to the castle. After two and a half hours of walking, they came to the realization that they were desperately lost. Panic started to sink in. They had no idea where they were. After walking a little farther on, Harry spotted something in the distance and approached with caution. It was white, that he could tell even in this darkest of night. Hormone thought it looked like a dead horse. But it wasn't a horse at all.

It was the unicorn all right, though Hormone was correct about the dead part. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad or smelt anything as horrible. Its long, slender legs were stuck out and twisted at odd angles where it had fallen and its eyes were still wide open. Harry peered around a rather large tree next to the dead animal and saw a whole clearing full of many other dead unicorns, there must have been at least eighty of them scattered about.

Harry had taken one step toward them when a slithering sound made him halt where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered… Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across on all fours like a baby. Harry and Hormone stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached one of the unicorns, lowered its head and took a huge bite out of its neck and began to drink its sweet blood.

The hooded figure suddenly stopped and raised its head. It looked right at Harry — unicorn blood was dribbling down all over its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly toward Harry — he couldn't move for fear. Hormone, on the other hand, fainted with a screech.

"AAAAAAAAAARGH!"

Then a sting like he'd never felt before pierced Harry's head; it was as though he had the worst ice cream headache you could possibly imagine. Half blinded, he staggered backward and tripped over Homrone's unconscious body. He heard hooves behind him, galloping, and then something jumped clean over Harry, charging at the figure.

Harry had missed the epic battle that ensued, for he too had passed out from the pain. When he became conscious, the figure had gone but something new was standing over him. Was it a man or a horse? To the waist, a man, with red hair and beard, but below that was a horse's gleaming chestnut body with a long, reddish tail. Harry's jaw dropped.

"It is I, Ronan, king of the centaurs," said the creature. "Are you in pain?"

He bent down and felt Harry's forehead like a concerned mom. He had a deep, sorrowful voice.

"No, no, I'm quite alright now, thanks," said Harry, brushing away the centaur's hand.

"Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?"

"Erm — I try," said Harry timidly.

"Mars is bright tonight, you know."

Ronan stared unblinkingly upward, then sighed.

"Mars is bright tonight," Ronan repeated. "Unusually bright."

"Never mind Mars," insisted Harry, "what was that thing that attacked me?"

The centaur didn't answer. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar that stood out, livid, now glowing a shade of green Harry's forehead.

"You are the Potter boy, are you not?" he said. "The forest is not safe at this time — especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way."

Harry sat up and started shaking Hormone back to consciousness. After further pleasantries were exchanged and Harry described what happened after she passed out, they both hopped up onto Ronan's back.

A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Harry's neck curl again, but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and more wilder-looking than Ronan.

"Ronan!" the second centaur thundered. "What are you doing? You have humans on your back! Have you no shame? Are you but a common mule?"

"Bane, do you realize who this is?" said Ronan. "This is the Potter boy. The faster he departs the forest, the better."

Bane looked skyward. "Mars is bright tonight," he said simply.

"Erm — so we've heard," said Harry.

"What! What have you been telling him?" growled Bane. "Remember, Ronan, we took an oath not to interfere in the dealings of man. Have we not read what is to come in our morning newspaper? If they wish to destroy themselves, so be it. More forest for the rest of us."

Bane kicked his back legs in anger as Ronan trotted away.

Harry and Hormone didn't have a clue what was going on.

"Why's that guy so angry?" he asked. "What was that thing you saved us from, anyway?"

"Harry Potter, do you not know why unicorns are slaughtered for their blood?"

"No," said Harry, startled by the odd question. "We've only just used unicorn testicles in Potions."

"That is because it is such an unfair thing, to slay a unicorn," said Ronan. "One of the most one-sided fights you will ever see, as unicorns are so innocent and defenseless. But the blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, so long as you drink roughly a gallon per hour. However you will never be fully cured and will be unable to stop drinking it from the moment the blood touches your lips."

"But who'd be that desperate?" he wondered aloud. "If you're going to be cursed to keep killing unicorns and drinking 24 gallons of blood per day, death's better, isn't it?"

"It is," Ronan agreed, "unless all you require is to stay alive long enough to have a drink of something else — something that will bring you back to full strength and supremacy — something that will ensure you can never die and not rely on an endless source of unicorns. Mr. Potter, do you not know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

"The Sorcerer's Bone! Of course — the Tonic of Existence! Boy this secret sure gets around. But I can't fathom who —"

"Good gracious, do I have to spell it all out for you child?! Can you not think of anyone who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life by slaughtering thousands of unicorns, awaiting the chance at the big time once more?"

It was as though an iron fist had suddenly punched Harry in the gut. Hormone was strangely quite this entire time, but Harry could tell she was deep in thought.

"You don't mean," Harry gulped, "that was Vol-Hormone!" shouted Harry, who felt her slip off sideways from Ronan's back and landed with a thud on the ground.

"Quick! Give her some unicorn blood! She might be dead!"

"She is not dead, but merely fainted. Fainted at the thought of You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About's very real possible return."

"I'm fine," said Hormone after coming to once again. "I just got a bit overwhelmed there, really."

"This is where I leave you," Ronan murmured. "You are safe now. The edge of these woods is just over yonder."

He turned and galloped back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry and Hormone alone to ponder their thoughts.

The important thing though was no more dragon — what could spoil that happiness?

The answer however was waiting for them just inside the entrance hall. As they stepped through the door, Filch's face loomed suddenly out of the shadows.

"Well, well, well," he whispered, "aren't we in a world of trouble…"

They'd forgotten to put on the invisibility ring.

Things where so bad it may have been Armageddon.

"Oh yes… It'll be hard work and pain for you lot if I had anything to say for it. They are the best teachers if you ask me… It's the old-style punishments that I really enjoy when professors assign them… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days in the dungeons, that'll teach you. I get the chains well-oiled every night so they'll be ready when needed… And I'll be extra thorough tonight."

He laughed with a grin.

"Right, off we go then, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do. I'm taking names. Got 'em in me head."

Filch took them away to Professor Hardcastle McCormick's study where they sat and twiddled their thumbs without saying a word to each other for a good forty minutes. Hormone was trembling. Excuses, alibis, and wild conspiracy theories chased around Harry's brain, each more sketchy than the last. He couldn't see how they were going to talk their way out of this one. They were done for. Harry might as well save him the trouble of being yelled at and just go start packing his bags now, he thought. How could they have been so stupid as to forget the ring? There was no excuse in the world that Professor Hardcastle McCormick would accept for their being out of bed and creeping around the school in the dead of night, let alone coming in from outside and from the forbidden forest no less if Filch had been watching them emerge from there, which was totally out-of-bounds.

"I would never have believed any of you."

Professor Hardcastle McCormick came bursting into the room, still in her bathrobe. She walked around them and sat down at her desk, fingers touching one another with a stern pose.

"Mr. Filch has informed me he caught you stumbling in from the front lawn. It's four o'clock in the morning. Enlighten me, what were you doing?"

It was the first time Hormone had ever failed to answer a teacher's question. She was staring at the her feet, as still as a statue.

"I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," said Professor Hardcastle McCormick. "It doesn't take a mastermind to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. Well good news, I've already caught him!"

"I'm disgusted," said Professor Hardcastle McCormick. "Three students out of bed in one night! It's unheard of! Never in all my years, nay, in the history of the school had there been such a thing! Mr. Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. You leave me no choice but to take five points away for your behavior. Belive me Potter, it pains me to do it. As for you, Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense. You will receive detention and — one thousand points will be taken from Gryffindor!"

"A... a thousand?" Hormone gasped — there went their lead, the lead Harry won in the last Quidditch match. And it was all Hormone's fault.

"Oh, you better believe it," said Professor Hardcastle McCormick, breathing heavily through her long, pointed nose.

"Professor — please — you can't —"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do Miss Granger! You're not my parents. Now back to bed, both of you. I've never been more ashamed of my Gryffindor students." She covered her eyes and looked down at the floor.

One thousand and five points lost. That put Gryffindor in dead last by a longshot. In one night, they'd ruined any chance Gryffindor had had for the house cup. Harry felt as though the floor had dropped out beneath him and he was falling, tumbling down like the points that had just been taken away. It was quite the belly whopper.

Early the next morning, Ron was released from the hospital wing. He came straight to the dormitory before the sun even began to peep across the trees and roughly shook Harry awake wanting to know how the previous night went. In a matter of seconds, though, Harry was wide-eyed and began to tell him what had happened in the forest down in the common room. Hormone soon joined them, still sleepy and in her pajamas.

Harry couldn't sit down. He paced up and down in front of the fire. He was still shaking.

"Snape wants the Bone for Voldémort… and Voldémort's been hanging out in the forest… and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get stinking rich…"

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron as he cowered in terror and put pillows against both ears.

Harry wasn't having any of it.

"Ronan saved me, but he shouldn't have done so… Bane was furious… he was talking about meddling with what the planets say is going to happen… They must show that Voldémort's coming back… Don't know why they wouldn't have known this years ago, I mean you can calculate out exactly where the planets will be for the next thousand years if you wanted to. I mean, if you really can read the future by looking at the alignment of the planets, well then you should know everything that's going to happen, shouldn't you? Anyway, Bane thinks Ronan should have let Voldémort murder me… I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

"Will you stop saying the name!" Ron moaned as if in pain.

Harry went on, paying no mind to Ron.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Bone," Harry went on feverishly, "then Voldémort will be able to come and finish me off… Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

Hormone looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

"Harry, everyone says Dumbledoor's the only one You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About was ever afraid of, with Dumbledoor around, You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are all knowing? Sounds like a bunch of gibberish to me. I mean, come on, reading the future based on the alignment of the planets and stars? Give me a break!"

The sky had turned bright before they stopped talking. They went to breakfast exhausted, their throats sore.

Harry stopped just before the Great Hall. What would happen when the rest of Gryffindor found out what they'd done?

At first, he heard Gryffindors who passed the giant hourglasses that recorded the house points thought there'd been a mistake. How could they suddenly have one thousand and five points fewer than yesterday? And then the story started to spread: Hormone, every teacher's favorite pet, had lost them all those points.

Sneering and jeering and glaring looks came from all over towards Hormone. There were many an insult thrown too, but they are far too harsh to print in this text dear reader.

To make matters worse, a note was delivered to Hormone at the breakfast table just before she finished scarfing down her sausage:

Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight.

Meet Mr. Filch in the dungeon.

Have a magical day,

Professor Hardcastle McCormick

Second-in-Command Headmistress

Harry had forgotten all about Hormone getting detention in addition to the points they'd lost. He half expected Hormone to complain that this was a whole night of studying lost, but she didn't say a word. Hormone accepted her fate and felt that she got what she deserved.

Harry continued to be one of the most popular and admired people at the school, but quickly learned to distance himself from Hormone. Even Viacoms and Hufflepuffles turned on her, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the house cup. Everywhere Hormone went, people pointed and didn't trouble to lower their voices as they insulted her. Slytherins, on the other hand, clapped whooped and hollered as she walked past them yelling out things like "Thanks Granger, couldn't have done it without you!"

Only Neville stood by her.

"They'll all forget this in the near future. Ron's brothers Fred and George have lost millions of points for us in their years, and people still like them."

"Yeah, but they've always been part of the cool kids. And what am I? Nothing. I'm mean look at me, we're here I the Great Hall and only you will sit within 20 feet of me," said Hormone miserably.

"Uh huh….. wait?," Neville wasn't sure if that was meant to be some sort of insult.

It was far too late to repair the damage caused by the atomic bomb Professor Hardcastle McCormick dropped on Hormone, so Harry just ignored her completely in the coming days and went about his business being the school celebrity. He also swore to himself not to go meddling in things that weren't his business from now on so that he would never find himself in Hormone's situation.

"These people can fend for themselves, why should I always be the one risking my neck to save their skins?" he kept telling himself.

Hormone had stepped her game up in class, insisting that she'd answer every question asked by her professors. Her thinking was that if the other students see how smart she is, they would lay off her and accept her as one of their own again. This plan greatly backfired however and made the students loath her even more.

She soon devoted every second of her free time to studying alone for the forthcoming exams, which kept her mind off her misery. She began working way longer into the night than she normally would barley getting two hours rest and it began to show. But there was just too much to do in trying to remember all the ingredients in complicated potions, learn hexes and spells by heart, and memorize the dates of magical mayhems and Hogwarts teacher rebellions. Harry, who had relied on Hormone for pretty much the entire year, was at a loss on where to even begin studying for the exams. And since he didn't want to be associated with Hormone, he was often seen blowing off his school work running around in the grass enjoying the late spring sun.

Then, about a fortnight prior to when the examinations were scheduled to commence, Harry's new resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern him was put to an unanticipated test. Walking towards his own personal washroom Dumbledoor had given him near the start of school to wipe some grass stains off his robes from playing outside one afternoon, Harry heard somebody moaning in pain from a classroom up ahead. He decided to do a little detective work and as he drew closer, he heard Quirrell's voice.

"Th-Thank you sir — may I have another? —"

SMACK

"Th-Th-Th-Thank you sir — may I have another? —"

SMACK

It sounded as though someone was beating him after each Thank You. Harry moved closer.

"All right — all right! —" he heard Quirrell sniffle.

Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom dropping his robes past his hips. He was pale and looked as though he was crying. He strode off with purpose; Harry didn't think Quirrell had even noticed him standing feet from the door. He waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then he poked his head into the classroom. It was empty, but a door to the balcony across the room was flapping in the wind.

He'd have gambled twelve hundred silver sickies that Snape had just leaped from there, and from what Harry had just heard, Snape would be walking with a new spring in his step — if he didn't leap to his death that is — Quirrell seemed to have given in at last. Harry walked outside and looked below. Not a body in sight, must have flown off on a broom or something he thought.

Harry went up to the Gryffindor common room after a quick pit stop in his private washroom, where Hormone was lecturing Ron on how he was going to fail Astronomy. Harry told them what he'd overheard.

"So Snape's done it then, hasn't he?" said Ron. "If Quirrell's told him how to break his Anti-Dark Side of the Force spell — we're all doomed. DOOMED!"

"We need to go to the Dumbledoor right away!" Hormone screeched.

"No, no. There's still Fuzzy. We still got this situation under control," said Harry.

"Maybe Snape's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid," said Ron, looking up at Harry. "I bet there's a book out there somewhere telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog. So what do we do, Harry?"

Both Ron and Hormone now stared at Harry, their undevout leader. The light of a new adventure now twinkling in Ron's eyes.

"If we just do a bit more poking around —"

"No," said Harry flatly, "we've done enough poking around. We need action!"


	15. To Boldly Go Where No Man

**CHAPTER THE FIFTHTEENTH**

 **To Boldly Go Where No Man Has Ever Gone Before**

In Harry's old age, he would fail to remember how he had managed to get through his exams when he half expected Voldémort to throw him a surprise party around every corner. It took him over an hour and half to go anywhere, always wand at the ready checking behind every door and in every trashcan. Yet the days crept on by just as they had for almost a full year, and with each passing hour he had no doubt that Fuzzy was still alive and kickin' behind the locked door.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. Wizards didn't have air conditioning and the students were still forced to wear their full uniform robes. They had all been hexed with special charms which would physically crush one's body to half its size if anyone attempted to cheat.

They had hands-on exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his bedroom to see if they could locate his false teeth with one flick of the wrist. Professor Hardcastle McCormick watched them turn yesterday's leftover dinner into a very rare American baseball card — points were given for how mint condition the card was, but taken away if it had food stains or smelled like fish. Snape made them all edgy, breathing down their necks and sniffing their hair while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion. Sadly this required boiling the solution when half ready or the effect would last for days if not weeks. If not properly careful, or in many cases just plain lucky, bubbles would form and pop, spraying the potion all over its maker. This of course led to several students instantly forgetting how to not only finish the potion but everything about their next exam as well.

Harry did his best to ignore the continuous stabbing pain in his forehead, which had been bothering him ever since his trip into the forest. Neville assumed Harry had a bad case of the heebie jeebies because Harry couldn't sleep and tossed and turned all night. But the truth was that Harry secretly kept being woken up by all this pain in his scar and kept getting worse and worse with each passing night. He didn't bother telling Ron or Hormone or Maddam Pompom about it for fear they would find him crazy.

Their very absolute last examination was Chronicle of Magic. A one hour oral exam of answering questions about loony old wizards or legendary magical mayhem occurrences and they'd be free, free at last! Harry's exam was scheduled for 2:30am while Ron's was at five in the morning. Hormone had to wait till after breakfast. When the ghost of Professor Binns told Harry he was a real let-down after he had finished answering all the questions, Harry couldn't help but feel demoralized. But he stayed up until Ron had completed his and then partied hard all that morning.

"That was far tougher than I thought it would be," said Ron as they joined the crowds flocking to breakfast later on. "I had to recite the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct in its entirety and I knew nothing about the uprising of Queen Elizabeth II."

Later that day after a hearty 3 hour gorge-fest breakfast, they still didn't feel sleepy even after the grueling night they just experienced, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped down under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling each other, who were also basking in the warm sunshine of freedom. "No more schoolwork," Ron sighed happily stretching out on the grass, hands behind his head. "Just think, only six short years of this nonsense and then we'll be home free! You could be a little more happy Harry, we've got a whole week before we find out how bad we've done, there's no need to freak out yet."

Harry was rubbing his forehead vigorously.

"I can't take it anymore!" he burst out angrily. "My scar keeps hurting — it's happened before, but never this bad for this long."

"Go to Madam Pompom," the wretched Hormone suggested, who was walking up from behind.

"Oh it's you," Ron yawned. "Shouldn't you be somewhere — losing more points for Gryffindor or something?"

Ron couldn't get worked up, it was too hot and the sleepiness started to settle in.

Hormone just glared at him.

Harry nodded in agreement, but he couldn't jiggle off a prowling sensation that there was something he'd overlooked, something utterly imperative that he must remember. When he frustratingly tried to explain this, Hormone said, "No no, that's just the stress of exam week. I woke up in the middle of the night and was two and a half hours through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd already done that one."

Harry was completely sure the unsettling feeling brewing inside him had nothing to do with petty schoolwork. He watched a pig flutter towards the school across the intensely blue sky, a note shoved in its snout. Hagrid was the only one who annoyed him with those blasted letters. "How'd you and yer friends like to come over fer sum cups o' cheddar?" "Care for sum cheddar, Harry?" "The cheese is mighty fine today, Harry. Come and git sum after your classes." Every other day it seemed Hagrid was sending him invitations for this strange wizarding ritual. Harry started to ignore them all together a few months into the school year, but they still continued to come even to this day. The only reason he bothered to visit Hagrid was when there was information to be gotten out of him. He was the absolute worst at keeping secrets and probably blurts out his bank account numbers to several strangers each time he goes shopping… Actually that's probably why he lives in that shacky old hut, can't keep a kissie to his name. How Dumbledoor trusts him, Harry will never know. All of Hagrid's secrets are probably well known to many, including how to…

Harry suddenly did a dramatic kip up.

"Where exactly do you think you going?" said Ron sleepily.

"I've just thought of something," said Harry. He had turned ultra-pale white. "We've got to go and see Hagrid. Now!"

"Why?" wheezed Hormone, hurrying to keep up.

"There's no time to explain!" Harry panted, scrambling up the grassy slope.

"But of course there is, Hagrid's hut is at least five minutes away, even at a good run," puffed Ron. But Harry, prancing across the grounds toward the forest, didn't answer.

Seven and half minutes of silent jogging later, they arrived at Hargid's hut. He was rocking in an armchair outside his house, stroking his shotgun. Fang was passed out next to him.

"Oh hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Come to get sum cup o' cheddar have yer?"

"Oh, yes please," said Ron, but Harry threw out his arm to stop him from walking up.

"No, we're in a state of urgency. Hagrid, I've got one question to ask and you better give it to me straight. You know that night you got Norbert? What did the stranger who approached you look like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually as he continued to rock, "wouldn' take his cloak off, he wouldn'."

He saw Harry raise his eyebrows to epic levels and fling his mouth open in shock.

"It's not that unusual, Hog's Head is a wretched hive o' scum an' villainy — that's one of the pub down in the village thar. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up. Did chop off a guy's arm though, right as I was walkin' in. Didn't think too much of it, tha' kinda thing happens all the time."

Harry strolled up and knelt down next to Hagrid and began to speak softly. "And what did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, straining to remember. "Yeah… it was many months ago but yeah I remember these details. He asked what I did, an' I told him I was Head Sanitation Officer here… He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after… so I told him… an' I said what I really need was a dragon to add to my collection… an' then… I can' remember alls too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks yer see… yeah, then he said he jus' happen ter have a live dragon egg an' would let it go fer the right price… but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home… So I told him, after housetraining a giant three-headed dog, a dragon would be easy…"

"And did he — did he appear to be very interested in Fuzzy?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice soft and calm like talking to a child who witnessed a heinous crime.

"Well — yeah —We talked fer ages 'bout him. He was clearly a man o' the critters like me, so I says to him I says, Fuzzy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' a little bit o' aromatherapy does the trick. Vanilla lavender an' sandalwood infused cinnamon leaf at a ratio o' sixteen ter nine exactly, an' he'll go straight off ter sleep —"

Hagrid abruptly became horrified.

"Whoops…. I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Ferget all about it. Hey — where do yeh think yer goin'?"

Harry, Ron, and Hormone didn't speak to each other at all until they came to a halt together in the entrance hall, like it was their instinct to get away from Hagrid as fast as they could and for some reason congregate here which seemed very cold and gloomy after the grounds.

"Do you see. DO YOU SEE! We've got to go warn Dumbledoor," said Harry. "Hagrid blabbed to that stranger how to get past Fuzzy, and it was either Snape or Voldémort under that cloak — I guarantee it more than George Zimmer. That Hagrid, always spilling his beans! I just hope Dumbledoor believes us. Ronan might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. It's a waste of time to get Hagrid involved in this mess. Where's Dumbledoor's office, anyway?"

They looked around, as if hoping to see the door right off the entrance hall. They had never been told where Dumbledoor lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to him to be punished.

"We'll just have to —" Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

"How dare you three come back from outside! It is a gorgeous day and your exams have concluded, you should be out frolicking in the sun. I was just about to dump this one by the lake, seems the exam had gotten the best of him and could use some fresh air."

It was Professor Hardcastle McCormick, carrying a tall passed out third year.

"We demand to see Professor Dumbledoor," said Hormone, rather heroically, Harry and Ron thought.

"Professor… Dumbledoor?" Professor Hardcastle McCormick repeated, as though this was a very sketchy thing to ask. "How come?"

Harry swallowed hard — now what?

"Uh… It's a secret, between us and him," he said, but he regretted it pretty instantly as Professor Hardcastle McCormick's nostrils flared up in rage.

"Professor Dumbledoor left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He received an urgent pig from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for Liverpool at once."

"He's outa here?" said Harry frantically. "Now?"

"Professor Dumbledoor is a very important wizard, Potter, he can't spend all his time monitoring you kids — "

"But it's the most important meeting he'll have all year, believe me!"

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?"

"Oh you betcha!" said Harry, who had enough toe tapping around the subject, "Professor — it concerns the Sorcerer's Bone —"

Whatever Professor Hardcastle McCormick had expected, it wasn't that. The student she was carrying flopped to the floor. He didn't wake up.

"How… do you… know —?" she stuttered.

"Professor, I think — I know — that Snape — nah, that someone will be attempting to steal the Bone right out from under us. You've just got to let me speak to the Dumbledoor."

She eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledoor will be back tomorrow," she said finally. "I don't know how you found out about the Bone, Potter, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

"That's what you think! —"

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she said shortly. She bent down and picked the student back up. "I advise you all go back outside and relish in the sunshine."

But they didn't.

"It's all going down right now!" said Harry, once he was sure Professor Hardcastle McCormick was out of earshot. "Snape's gone through the trapdoor. He's found out everything he needs, apparently ages ago, and now he's got Dumbledoor out of the way too. He sent that note, I bet it will be a real shocker when Dumbledoor turns up to the Ministry of Magic. Wonder why he took the slow way and didn't just apparate? Oh but when I get my hands on Snape, I'm gonna —"

Hormone gasped. Harry and Ron swung round.

Snape was standing there.

"Good afternoon," he said with no enthusiasm.

A two-minute staring match ensued.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like today," he said looking up and away.

"People will think you're… _up_ to something. And Gryffindor can't really afford to lose any more points, can they? What are you, behind Slytherin by fifteen hundred is it?"

"Fourteen hundred and sixy seven," Harry snapped back.

"Be warned, Potter — any more questionable wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. A jolly good day to you all. Now, I have some business to attend to."

He strode off in the direction of the bathroom.

Harry turned to the others.

"Right, it's time we take matters into our own hands," he whispered urgently. "One of us has got to monitor Snape's whereabouts — wait outside the bathroom and follow him if he leaves it. Hormone, you'd better do that."

"What? Why me?"

"It's obvious," said Ron. "You can't go in there, so it will be like you're waiting for one of us." He put on a high voice, "'Oh Professor Snape, I'm so worried, Harry's been in there an awfully long time… '"

"Oh, shut up," said Hormone, "Wouldn't he know you weren't in there though?" But she agreed to go and spy on Snape anyway.

"And we'd better patrol the third-floor corridor," Harry told Ron like a general commanding his troops. "Come on!"

But that part of the plan didn't work. No sooner had they reached the door separating Fuzzy from the rest of the school than Professor Hardcastle McCormick turned up again and this time, she lost her mind.

"And I suppose you think you first years have a better chance at stopping whoever it is from getting through there than the entire combined force of that which is protecting the Bone?" she stormed. "Ha! Enough of this nonsense! If I catch wind you've come within 500 feet of here again, I'll take another five thousand points from Gryffindor! Yes, Weasley, from my own house!"

Harry and Ron waltzed back to the common room. Harry had just said, "At least Hormone's on Snape's tail," as the portrait of the Fat bikini lady swung open for them to step through but Hormone was just inside.

"I'm sorry, Harry!" she sobbed. "Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for a friend, and Snape went back in to get him, and I've only just got away, and in a panic I came back here. I don't have any idea where Snape is."

"Well, we're completely screwed then, aren't we?" Harry said.

The other two sat down, ashamed.

"That's it!" Harry abruptly stated angrily. "I'm getting out of here tonight and going to take a stab at getting to the Bone first."

"You're absolutely bonkers!" said Ron.

"You can't!" said Hormone. "After what Hardcastle McCormick and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!"

"Psh, empty threats. I'm Harry 'Hero to All' Potter," Harry shouted. "Don't you understand? I'm everyone's Lord and Savior, Master and Commander. A god among mere men. They won't do anything, Dumbledoor needs me for my image. Professor Hardcastle McCormick herself said I've got the Potter Privilege and can't be touched. Plus Voldémort's coming back! I'm the only one who's ever stopped him, and I'll stop him again! I know he'll kill me for sure after he comes back, and I'm too precious of a snowflake to just sit here and take it. If I'm dead, then who will everyone look up too, hmm? There certainly won't be any Hogwarts left to get expelled from either! He'll turn this place into a dump and invite in all the riffraff! A measly Hogwarts diploma doesn't matter to me if I'm dead! Can't you see? It's a fight to the death. Me or him. I'm going through that trapdoor tonight to get The Bone and I'm going to kill whoever dares try to get in my way!"

He glared at them, fire burning in his eyes. He was thirsty for blood. And blood Harry shall have.

"You're completely right Harry," said Hormone in a small voice, looking down at her toes.

"I'll use the invisibility ring, I'll be super safe from harm that way." said Harry.

"But will it conceal all three of us?" said Ron.

"All — all three of us?" Harry questioned. He did not want the others tagging along.

"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you have all the fun? There's an adventure to be had! And I want in."

Hormone added quickly. "Not I. How dare you just assume that I would want to partake in such a disastrous plan."

"But if we get caught, we'll blame it all on you again and get expelled too." Ron shot back.

"Alright, alright, FINE!" said Hormone grimly. "Flitwick told me a secret memory charm that will rewind someone's thoughts five minutes. So if we run into someone it will be like we were never there. I'll go practice, where's Neville?"

After dinner, where they all three pigged out considerably since it may very well have been their last meal, the three of them sat nervously apart in the common room. Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to Hormone anymore, after all. She continued to be annoyed by this. Harry and Ron didn't talk much either. Both of them were in deep thought about the task at hand, contemplating death.

Slowly, the common room became a whole lot less common as people coasted off to bed.

"Better get the ring," Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan FINALLY left. Harry ran upstairs probably waking everyone who had fallen asleep. He pulled out the ring from a cereal box he had hidden it in and scarfed down his one last chocolate from Christmas, in case he wouldn't ever come back. He placed The Last Will And Testiment Of Mr. Harry J. Potter he had written out earlier on top of his pillow just in case too.

Harry ran back down to the common room, again feet pounding hard on the metal stairs as he didn't pay no mind.

"We'd better try out the ring here, and make sure it conceals all three of us – if Filch spots one of our body parts wandering along on its own —"

"What's all this then?" said a voice from behind an armchair facing a corner. It spun around, scraping the floor. Neville appeared, petting Trevor the toad, who looked as though he'd been making another bid for sweet freedom.

"Nothing, Neville, nothing," said Harry, who tossed the ring aside in a panic. It wound up hooking a suit of armor and caused it to disappear, but luckily Neville didn't seem to notice.

Neville squinted at their guilty faces.

"You're going out on the town again, aren't you," he said.

"No, no, no," said Hormone. "No, we're not, believe me. We got more important things to take care of. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?"

"Don't change the subject," he snapped back.

Harry looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn't afford to waste any more time. Dumbledoor has been gone for hours and they've just been dillydallying around all day. Snape could have very well stolen the Bone ages ago and be half way to Switzerland by now with his BFF Voldémort.

"You can't go out," said Neville, "you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."

"You can't fathom what's at stake here," said Harry, "this is my life we're talking about."

But Neville was fidgeting around, about to do something desperate.

"I— I don't care. I won't allow it," he said, scurrying to obstruct the portrait hole. "I'll — I'll fight you!"

Ron sucker punched him right I the jaw.

Neville fell to the floor and cowered into a corner.

Hormone took a few steps towards him.

"Petrificus Totalus!" she cried, pointing her wand at Neville.

Neville's whole body became rigid, he swayed on all fours, stiff as a board. Only his eyes were moving, twitching around in horror.

"Quick! Help me move him into the coat closet," said Hormone who ran to him.

"What've you done to him?" Harry whispered.

"It's the full Body-Bind," said Hormone. "It will last for days so we won't need to worry about him squealing to anyone while we're gone. If we survive, I'll preform the countercurse."

"And if we don't?" Ron questioned.

"Well it's like you said, we're all dead anyway."

"Why didn't you use that memory charm? Would have saved us a bunch of trouble here," said Harry.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that. But let's add that one on so he won't remember who did this too him."

Hormone opened the closet door, preformed the charm, and slammed it back shut again.

Soon, they were scampering through the portrait hole and where on their way after Harry felt around and found the ring. For whatever reason, the halls seemed extra dark tonight. All the shadows from the suits of armor and other odds and ends that filled the corridors gave them the spooks. Around the second corner however, they spotted Mrs. Norris near the top of a set of stairs.

"Oh, let's kick her, just this once, I've never gotten to do it," Ron whispered in Harry's ear. Harry nodded. Ron ran away from holding hands with Harry towards Mrs. Norris who was looking the other way. Right as Ron got within a few feet of her, her ears perked up but it was too late. Ron full on kicked her so hard she went flying through the air and out a nearby staircase window. This was not something Ron had tried to do but was pure luck, as he explained later.

They didn't meet anyone else when they reached the staircase down to the third floor. A few seconds later, they were there, outside the hidden door behind the tapestry — and the door was left ajar as if whoever was already in there wanted any passersby to know what's going down.

"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly, "We're too late."

They decided to investigate anyway. As they entered the room, deep rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it appeared to be asleep.

"What's that at its feet?" Hormone whispered.

"Looks like some sort of cauldron fire," said Ron.

"Oh my gosh!" Hormone exclaimed. "We totally forgot to bring the vanilla lavender and sandalwood infused cinnamon leaf!"

Right at that moment, the smell of hot cinnamon and vanilla hit their noses.

"Oh yeah, haha I had a feeling we overlooked something. Lucky for us ol' Snape did something useful for a change, remind me to thank him later after we catch up and torture him a bit the way he tortured us during the school year," Harry said, feeling a little relieved.

They all had a good laugh then crept toward the trapdoor in the middle of the room.

"All right." Ron rubbed his hands together and smacked his lips while he approached the wooden door in the floor. He bent and pulled the ring of on top of the trapdoor, which swung up and open. A light white mist poured out from under it.

"What can you see?" Hormone said anxiously.

"Nothing — just black — there's no way of climbing down, we'll just have to take a leap of faith. Want to go first, Hormone?"

"No, I don't!"

Harry signaled Ron to do it.

"You want me to go first?" said Ron.

"Yeah, I'm far too valuable to get killed this early and I need Hormone cuz she's way smarter than you and can protect me from loads of things later on. So that leaves — you."

Ron looked down through the trapdoor. There was no sign of the bottom. He gulped.

Ron lowered himself through the hole until he was dangling by just his fingertips. Then he looked up at Harry and said, "If anything happens to me, I want you to have my collection of Chocolate Frog cards, OK?"

"Of course," said Harry.

"Catch you on the flip side…"

And Ron let go. Icy cold air rushed past him as he tumbled down, down, down and —

The second he started to regret committing suicide — FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump he landed on something soft. He sat up and felt around, his eyes not used to the gloom. It felt as though he was sitting on some sort of slimy plant.

"I'm — I'm alive!" he called up to the light the size of a postage stamp, which was the open trapdoor, "I'm alive, haha! It's a soft landing, you can jump!"

Harry dove in right away, eager to confront Snape. Several seconds later he landed squarely on top of Ron in a painful collision.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH — We did not think this through," were Harry's his first words.

"Hold on, Hormone!"

But it was too late, she had already jumped and also landed directly on top of both of them.

All three of them now wiggled around in agony.

"OHH! This is the worst pain ever! AHH! Quick Hormone, your anti-pain charm! UUUGH"

Hormone managed to mutter "morfeenitas" onto herself and then the others. Ron's left arm appeared broken and hung at an odd angle as it appeared to have popped out of its socket and Hormone did have a big dent in her head, but beyond that and a few other bumps and bruises they were at least all now pain free.

"Wow! We must be miles under the school," Hormone said.

"Lucky this plant thing's here," said Ron.

With their eyes now adjusting to the dim room, there was a loud cranking noise that echoed through the chamber. All of a sudden, the soft plant that they had landed on began to untangle and retreat away to somewhere they couldn't see.

"What happened?!" Hormone screamed.

"I don't know, it just disappeared," Harry replied.

There was another booming echo.

"I got a bad feeling about this —" Ron stated.

There was another loud grinding noise, but this time constant and didn't go away.

"The walls are moving!" Harry yelled.

The stone walls on either side of them began moving towards each other. If they didn't do something soon, they'd be crushed.

"One thing's for sure, we're all going to be a lot thinner," puckered Ron.

"Don't just stand there, try and brace it with something!" Hormone said frantically.

"With what? There's nothing here!" Ron shouted back.

Hormone closed her eyes, "Let me think, let me think —"

Harry and Ron both tried to climb up the moving walls, but it was no use they were too smooth.

"That's it!" shouted Hormone as she took out her want.

"Come-on-wall-do-the-locomotion!"

She flicked at the wall and it instantly stopped, then even began to move back some.

"I did it I did it!" she screamed, "but I can only control one wall at a time. Quick, one of you do the other one. Hurry now!"

It was Harry who got to his want first.

"Come-on-wall-do-the-locomotion!"

They used their respective wands to push the walls back into place and all screamed in joy as if they were dying.

"AHH! We're all right!" shouted Harry.

A door to their side swung open.

"This way it shall be," said Harry, pointing down a stone passageway, which was the lone way forward.

They sped off down the path, running as fast as they could. The passageway sloped downward and a short ways on Ron tripped and scrapped up his face pretty bad. As Hormone mended Ron yet again, Harry, edgy to get going, couldn't help but think this place reminded him of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart, he remembered that dragons are said to be guarding vaults in the wizards' bank. He wondered if a fully-grown dragon could tell he killed one of their own — he'd be done for unless he can find a way to kill again…

"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered a short time after they got moving once more.

Harry stopped and put his ear to the ground. A soft rustling and clinking sound could be heard.

"Do you think it's Filch with those blasted chains of his?" Ron said, who also put his ears to the ground to have a listen.

"I don't know… I doubt it, how'd he get down here?" Hormone questioned, also getting down on all fours, ear to the floor. "Sounds more like — wings to me,"

"Wings? How can you hear wings?" Asked Harry.

As they approached the end of the passageway, Ron stated the obvious.

"There's light ahead — I can see something moving."

Soon before them was a dazzlingly lit golden chamber, its ceiling arching abnormally high above them. It was full of miniature, diamond-bright birds, flapping and fluttering all around the room. On the opposite side of the large chamber, they saw a heavy wooden door.

"What's all this about?" said Ron.

"These birds… they can't be here just for ornamentation," said Hormone. "They're freakishly reflective."

They watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering —glittering?

"They're not birds!" Harry said suddenly. "They're keys! Winged keys — look carefully. So that must mean…" he looked over at the large wooden door again and ran over to it. It was cracked open. And there, in its keyhole, was a large silver key. Its wings were broken off and lying on the floor. The key itself was twitching around in the keyhole like it was in pain and trying to escape It couldn't though, for it was bent and appeared to have been shoved in with great force. There was also some silver substance trickling off it onto the floor, which they thought must have been magic key blood.

This was all the evidence he needed. There was certainly someone down here ahead of them, and it most certainly wasn't Hagrid coming to tame a six-headed cat or what other abomination he may have down here. This was a fresh wound. Harry became evermore so determined to stop this madman. They marched onward.

The subsequent chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But then light had suddenly burst into the room to reveal a quite familiar sight.

They were standing in the middle of a huge Dejarikboard, and all around them stood several Dejarikmen, which were all much taller than they were and carved from what looked like solid marble. Harry, Ron and Hormone shivered slightly – the towering Dejarikmen where quite scary.

"What do you suppose we do?" Harry asked irritably.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron. "We have no choice but to play our way."

Behind one of the pieces they could see another door.

"How exactly?" said Hormone nervously.

"Hmm — I think," said Ron, "that we're going to have to be Dejarikmen."

"I need to plan out a good strategy before we get going —" he said as they took their positions on three of the blank spaces.

Harry tapped his feet impatiently, watching Ron think for a full ten minutes. Finally he said, "Alright I've got a plan of attack. Don't be offended or anything, but neither of you are any good at Dejarik —"

Harry just rolled his eyes.

"Right, well we seem to be in position. It's the other side that goes first," said Ron, peering across the board. "Yes… look…"

A large Monnok had moved towards Ron. It swung its mighty club and clobbered Ron square in the jaw, sending blood spattering across the board. Ron too went flying and landed unconscious many feet away from where he was previously standing.

"DONE!" Harry screamed as he threw up his arms and began running towards the other door. Hormone quickly followed.

"What about Ron?" She panted.

"There's no time! Plus he was supposed to be the grand Dejarik player and all, should have seen that coming. Look! The door's open already, we didn't even have to play."

It was true, the door in front of them was slightly ajar leading to the next passageway. Harry pulled the door fully open and stepped through. He and Hormone took off down the hallway.

"We'll see if Ron is still alive when we come back this way, but I'm not holding my breath. He was hit pretty hard back there. What do you reckon's next?"

"We've had Sprout's, that must have been the plant compactor room; I bet Flitwick put charms on those key birds; Hardcastle McCormick transfigured marble to make the Dejarikmen come alive; that leaves Quirrell's deally, and Snape's."

They had reached another door.

"Why don't you go first, in case there's something ready to attack," Harry whispered.

"OK—" Hormone said hesitantly.

Hormone pushed the door open, wand at the ready.

But there was nothing very nightmarish in here, just a booth with seven differently shaped bottles on the table complete with three bar stools and a stuffed scarecrow bartender.

"Snape's," said Harry. "It's gotta be Snape's. What do we do?"

They stepped over the threshold, and immediately silver bars dropped down over both the doorway they entered from and the one on the other side of the room, presumably the one they had to travel through next. They were trapped like rats.

"Look!" Hormone seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles and began to read:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting and bidding time —

And it goes on like this. Harry yawned, bored.

"Uhh — I'm just going to try one at random and hope for the best."

"Wait! No!" Hormone yelled.

But it was too late. Harry had picked up one of the bottles and downed the whole thing in a couple gulps. He set the bottle down hard and wiped his mouth with his arm.

"AAH! That hits the spot!"

"How do you feel?"

"I feel fine, whoa!"

At that moment, Harry began to levitate just off the ground. He then zoomed around the bar booth and towards the other door. Right before he was about to slam into it, the bars went back up and the door opened letting him through. Just as he passed into the next room, the door slammed behind him and he could hear the bars go back down again. He was on the other side, in the last chamber.

But there was already someone here — it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldémort.


	16. Harvey Dent

**CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH**

 **Harvey Dent**

It was Quirrell, oversized cowboy hat and all.

"Quirrell!" gasped Harry. "Thank the gods you're here. Snape's down here somewhere and he's trying to steal the Bone. Hurry! Let's find and catch him, not a moment to lose!"

Quirrell just smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.

He said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"But— Snape — come on let's go!"

Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering tremble, either, but a cold sharp and very high pitched screech. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Harry didn't understand.

"Well I'm sure glad you're here, being the Defense Against The Dark Side of the Force teacher and all. But Snape is on the loose! Let's get him!"

"No you foolish boy! It is I, The Quirrell, who you are after, don't you see?"

Harry just stood there a good long while, thoughts stirred in his head. What Quirrell was saying was not resonating with him.

"But Snape tried to kill me!"

"No, no, no. _I_ tried to kill you. And I would have gotten away with it too if you weren't so lucky to have that Slytherin child break your fall. I'd have done it much sooner if Snape wasn't yelling out the countercurse trying to save you. But I knew I would win out in the end, it was only a matter of time anyway — a wasted effort. Just a shame that Slytherin boy was there when it happened."

"What do you mean Snape was tried to save me?"

"Of course," said Quirrell coldly. "Why do you think he fixed it so that Madam Hooch would win the Wizard's Lottery? He wanted oversight and make sure I couldn't pull the same trick again. That's why he hounded you all year, funny, really. I could have killed you any time I wanted during the year. It would have been so easy to do and so many different ways. But I wanted to torment Snape and really milk that experience with him, so I've held off in doing so. Oh don't you worry, I've enjoyed it greatly. But alas, I'm going to kill you tonight."

Quirrell did some stretching. Then he winked. At that moment, ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry.

Harry had seen this movie before and didn't like where it was going. He recalled the time he snuck a peak at Fifty Shades of Grey from outside the Drubblesnort's living room window when Uncle Vern and Aunt Petunia thought he was asleep.

"You're too meddlesome to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school like you own the place, at all hours of the day and night. For all I knew you were trying to get the Bone for yourself."

"Wait — It was you let that troll in on Halloween."

"Darn tootin'," he said with a point of his finger. "While everyone else was running around like a mad mob, I was busy sneaking up to the third floor to see what was behind door number one. Snape, who already distrusted me, headed for the third floor as well to confront me if I showed up — but I caught sight of him already in front of me heading towards the stairs. I ran up behind him and pushed him over the banister. Scraped up his leg pretty bad on the suit of armor he landed on. Don't think he ever saw me do it, but I think he had his suspicions. Such an odd fellow, didn't even bother to heal himself for weeks after. Must of thought the culprit would feel guilty or something and come clean. But I just found it amusing that he suffered much longer than he should have. Anywhose, wait quietly, Potter. I need to study this peculiar door."

It was only then that Harry realized what was erect behind Quirrell. It was The Dumbledoor of all things.

"This door is the final solution to uncovering the Bone," Quirrell mumbled, tapping his way around the frame. "I suppose Dumbledoor came up with this… but he's in London… I'll be far far away in Switzerland by the time he gets back. All he'll find here is a pool of blood and whatever's left of you, of course."

He looked back at Harry as he said this then walked around to the other side of the door.

Quirrell stepped through the back and appeared on Harry's side like stepping through a Stargate. He turned towards the door once more and stared.

"All I see is myself killing you, Harry. It's particularly gruesome and certainly giving me ideas… but where is the Bone? I don't understand —"

"Hold on, hold on. But Snape always seemed to hate me so much."

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "absolutely, yes. We've had loads of drunken discussions about which students us teachers hate the most in the staffroom. Your name was all Snape ever brought up when it was his turn. He was at Hogwarts with your pops, didn't you know? They loathed each other, and now he's taking it out on you for revenge. He never wanted you completely dead, just bruised and broken."

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing — I thought Snape was threatening you…"

Fear appeared across Quirrell's face in a great spasm.

"Every so often," he said, "I find it — awkward — to follow my master's orders. He is such a stupendous wizard and I am but a weakling —"

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Harry said with a puzzled look on his face.

"Of course, he is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell matter-of-factly. "We first met some time ago at an AA meeting and really hit it off. Actually many of the ol' deatheaters were drafted from there, makes for an excellent Dark Side recruitment source. Anyway, he tracked me down over the summer and was in an awful state when we met up at a B&B in Switzerland. But since then, I have let him down many times though we do have our moments." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily, you know. When I failed to steal the Bone from Gringotts, he punished me… wouldn't allow me to sleep for a week…"

Quirrell's voice trailed on. Harry's attention went to his own thoughts and was remembering his trip to Diagon Alley — He'd seen Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with him and all in the Leaky Cauldron. And come to think of it, Harry also remembered Quirrell tucking away a small dagger as he approached. Second thoughts on murdering him right then and there perhaps?

"I don't understand… is the Bone inside the door? Should I break it?"

"Yeah! Good luck with that," Harry snorted.

"What is this door for? How does it work?" Quirrell kept on opening and closing the door, doing the same thing over and over again expecting something different each time. "Help me, Master!"

Harry was dumbfounded that a voice answered, and the muffled voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy, you fool!"

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Yes — Potter — come here."

Harry hopped toward him, still bound in the tight ropes.

"Look in the door and tell me what you see."

I must tell a tall tale, he thought frantically. I must look and lie about whatever it is I see, that's all.

Quirrell moved close behind him, so close that he bent down and was breathing right into Harry's ear. Quirrell scooted him along faster to get Harry right in front of the door.

Harry saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection looked like he was holding his breath and became quite red. Then it smiled at him and put its hand into its pants like he was going to wipe and pulled out a bloodied arm bone. It winked and tried to stuff the Bone back in its pants — and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his underwear. Somehow — incredibly —he was pooping out the Bone. At least he thought it was the Bone…

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see boy?"

Harry became a little frantic.

"I — I see myself — eating chips and dip in bed," he concocted. "I've got crumbs all over my robes."

Quirrell cursed.

"Get out of the way," he said as he pushed Harry aside, who fell on the ground. He felt the Sorcerer's Bone being pushed out even more and was starting to become quite uncomfortable.

A high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"He's fibbing! Let me speak to him… mano a mano…"

"But Master, you are in no condition to be doing this!"

"Quirrell! I have been waiting ten long years for this moment… for my revenge…"

Harry was still tied up and lying on the ground. He couldn't move a muscle. Horrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and took off his large cowboy hat. What was going on? He tossed the hat away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he did an about-face.

Harry screamed, loud and very high pitched like a girl. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most hideous face Harry had ever seen, well second hideous after Snape. It was chalk white with glaring green eyes and heart-shaped nostrils, like a cat.

"Hello there Babylove…" it whispered.

Harry wiggled all around, but the ropes wouldn't budge.

"See what you did to me?" the face said. "A mere outline of haze… I have form only when I hijack another's body… there have always been those willing or unwilling to let me into their hearts… but of course there are always ways of getting what I want. Quirrell here is just a convenient vessel, nothing more. And when I've regained my body… well I just won't have much use for him anymore, will I? Unicorn blood has sustained me, these past many years… you saw Quirrell and I partying in the forest that night… and once I have obtained the Tonic of Existence, I will be able to manifest a new body of my own… better than I was before… better… stronger… faster... Now… why don't you bend over and give me that Bone that's dropping into your pants?"

So he knew. The feeling down there becoming more apparent. The ropes binding him suddenly unwound and disappeared.

"Don't be a dupe," grumbled the face. "Join me… and together we shall rule the galaxy! Or — you'll meet the same fate as your parents… They died begging me for an extension of their mortgage…"

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly.

"How cute…" it hissed. "Yes, boy, your parents were poor… I slaughtered your father first; he didn't put up much of a fight… your mother, however, was a pesky one to put down. But in the end she died too, and I made sure that it was exceptionally painful… Now then, get on all fours so Quirrell can pull out the Bone."

"NEVER!"

Harry did another one of his famous kip ups and sprang toward the door, but Voldémort cried "SEIZE HIM!" and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close around his angle. At once, Harry spun around and slapped Quirrell across his face. Quirrell screamed in pain and fell to his knees, grabbing his face — it was blistering before his eyes.

Then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain. He really was a god, the Dark Horse who will one day rule the world. But first —

Harry tapped both of Quirrell's cheeks a few times and then gave him a poke in the eye. Quirrell screamed and wiggled in pain — but like a frog not knowing the water was starting to boil around it, the pain in Harry's smiley face scar had been building up unbeknown to him as well.

When Harry finally realized that he was suffering also, he knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down… down… down…

Harry blinked. Dazed and confused. The fuzzy outline of Schoolbus Dumbledoor appeared lingering above him.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledoor.

Harry blinked again, rubbing his eyes. Then he realized that the feeling in his pants was gone: "Sir! The Bone! It was Quirrell the whole time! He's got the Bone! Sir, make haste!"

"Keep your pants on, dear boy, you are a way behind the times," said Dumbledoor. "Quirrell does not hold possession of the Bone."

"I — Sir, then who does?"

"Harry, please calm down, or Madam Pompom will throw you out to recover on your own."

"NO! I will not calm down, I want answers old man! The fate of the world is at stake! My fate is at stake…"

Harry gave a large frustrated sigh and looked around him. He just now noticed he was in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with a bed pan under him, and piled high all around was what looked like three whole the candy shops.

"Tokens from your friends, fans, and followers," said Dumbledoor, chuckling. "What happened down there between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. And if I ever find out which teacher squealed to the students — Ah, I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for sending you that toilet over there. No doubt they thought it would amuse you."

Dumbledoor saw Harry gazing over at it, its bowl overflowing with candy too.

"How long have I been in here?"

"Five days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger have been frantically trying you wake you and have visited many times. I only just popped in to steal a bit of candy, which I'm sure you wouldn't have mind given your then current condition… But as I was reaching for some chocolates, you began to stir and thought I'd better hold off. Would you like some of this candy, Harry? Boys love candy."

"But sir, the Bone —"

"I see you are easily distracted. Very well, to the Bone. Professor Quirrell did not achieve his goal of obtaining it. I arrived just in time to thwart that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say. No sooner had I disembarked in London than it became clear that the place I should have been was the one I had left hours ago. But I took the long way back again because I knew you were special Harry, and need not apparate back to Hogwarts or use a portkey or utilize the vast Floo network or any of the several other ways to cut my travel time down by hours, you can take care of yourself. I arrived just in time to watch you slap Quirrell from a distance and let it play out some more until you passed out making my previous assumption that you can fend for yourself wrong."

"It was you who saved me? I thought I did it all on my own —"

"I'm glad I intervened when I did, it was easy at that point with everyone passed out on the floor."

"I'm glad we all passed out that the same time, I couldn't have kept him from pulling out the Bone much longer —"

"Not the Bone, boy, you — the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. Then we really would have had a mess on our hands, what would the papers say? 'Legendary Boy Killed At Hogwarts' — it would be a PR nightmare for the school. As for the Bone, it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your BFF — Nicolas Flamel —"

"Oh, so you know about Nicolas, do you?" said Dumbledoor, sounding quite rattled. "You did do the thing properly alright. Well, I sat down with Nicolas and we had a little heart to heart. I convinced him it was for the best to destroy it."

Dumbledoor did air quotes at the word "convinced."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"He has enough Elixir stored to last for quite some time and then, yes, he will eventually die. Kristi on the other hand still has a full life ahead of her. Nicolas has had the pleasant tendency to trade out wives every ten years or so and has never given the Elixir to any of them. Always kept it for himself, so nothing changes for her, really."

Dumbledoor smiled at the look of jealousy on Harry's face. Harry leaned back and put his hands behind his head, lost for words.

"Sir?" said Harry eventually. "I've been pondering — even if the Bone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Perfectly-Well-Who-I'm-Talking-About —"

"Call him by his real fake name Harry: Voldémort. Always use the phony proper name for things, you don't want to offend anyone. Plus it's just so silly to avoid saying the name of something we all know exists."

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldémort's going to take a stab at other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, you didn't kill him once and for all down there, did you?"

"No, Harry, sadly I did not. He is still out there somewhere, biding his time… by not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies so at least he's consistent, you have to give him that. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power — if he is delayed again, and again, say around the end of the school term each year for the next six years, he may never return to power."

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly because it made his head hurt. Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me… things I want to know the truth about…"

"The truth." Dumbledoor sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your inquiries unless I have a very noble reason not to. I shall not, of course, fib."

"Well… why did Voldémort want to kill me and my parents in the first place?"

Dumbledoor sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, I have done many a research on my own digging into that very same question over the years. I believe I know the answer, the Ministry of Magic on the other hand has yet to figure it out and I'm quite certain I'm the only person in the world who can answer this. Well, apart from Voldémort, that is. So here it goes. Your parents were in deep debt to Voldémort. They had taken out a hefty wizard mortgage to purchase their house after having you. But little did they know that the business they signed with was a front for Voldémort's criminal activity. And when they fell on hard times and couldn't pay up, Voldémort took it upon himself to personally get revenge for failing to pay. He enjoys that sort of thing, you know. Your parents certainly weren't the first and if he had his way most likely won't be the last."

Harry couldn't believe his parents could have been so foolish.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"For the same reason why you couldn't touch him. With Voldémort in Quirrell's body and a good chunk of the curse he tried to kill you with trapped in your scar, it began to unleash the full power that has been tucked away for years. I would not go around touching others who you loath, Harry, for the same affect may very well occur again."

Harry stared at his hands, in awe of his newly discovered god-like powers.

"And the invisibility ring — do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah — that I do have a theory on, but will not disclose who that may be until book three." Dumbledoor gave a wink. "Useful thing, that is… I caught your father using it all the time to sneak off with your mother…"

"And sir, there's one more thing…" Harry interrupted.

"Shoot."

"How did the Bone get out of the door and into my, you know… pants?"

"Ah, now my boy, I'm glad you inquired about that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and that's not giving it its full credit. You see, only one who wanted to retrieve the Bone — retrieve it, not exploit it — would have it magically pop out of their rectum. Makes it a rather more interesting that way, wouldn't you say."

Dumbledoor gave Harry another wink. Harry started to feel a bit creeped out from all the winking.

"And I really have you to thank for that, Harry. Before you started going through my belongings, we just had the Bone sitting on an old stool down there. Had you not found my family's door, Voldémort would have the Bone in hand and off in Switzerland at this very moment. It was this one last obstacle that stopped him. And it all has to do with my ingenuous addition. My brain surprises even me sometimes… Now, enough with these questions. I suggest you start gorging on these many sweets. So much to eat and so little of the school year left, you know. Ah! Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my formative years to come across a vomit flavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've been traumatized by the experience — but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee one."

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Vomit again! Drat."

Then he fainted to the floor with a very unsettling look upon his face. Madam Pompom the nurse, came busting in when she heard the thumping sound of Dumbledoor hitting the floor and shrieked in horror to see such a sight.

Ron and Hormone came in later in the day.

"Harry!"

"Just five minutes, guys," Harry pleaded. "I need my rest."

Hormone looked ready to fling her arms around him, but Harry held up his hand and motioned her to stop.

"Oh, Harry, we weren't sure you were going to — Dumbledoor was so worried — Hey speaking of, what happened to him?"

Hormone spotted Dumbledoor still out cold in the bed next to Harry.

"Hmm? Oh… poisoning," Harry replied.

"Anyway, the whole school's talking about it," said Ron. "Everyone's forming their own theories, so what really went down? I have big money riding on you killing Quirrell single handedly."

It was one of those occasions when the true story wasn't all that wild. Harry told them everything: Quirrell; the door; the Bone; where it came out; and Voldémort. When Harry told them what was under Quirrell's cowboy hat, they both laughed out loud.

"So you just passed out? Right when it was all going down?" said Ron at the end of Harry's recount.

"That's what Dumbledoor told me — I guess in the end I didn't really do all that much, really. I mean if anything I put the whole operation in jeopardy, didn't I? Had I not shown up, Quirrell would have never come so close to getting The Bone, it would still be trapped in the door."

"Haha, oh my gosh you're right!" Hormone gasped.

"So what happened to you two?" said Harry.

"Well, after your bold approach to just drinking any old potion," said Hormone. "Dumbledoor came swaggering in after I continued to think about it for a few minutes. He instantly said I should take the blue one, which I did, and it sent me back into the previous room. I brought Ron around after smacking him upside the head a bit — that took a while — and made it back to the pit room. There was a little hovering wooden platform that wasn't there before, we figured that's how Dumbledoor made it down so we stepped on it. It flew us back up to the top and I made sure Ron here got himself checked out at the hospital wing, he looked awful then, still does now as you can see."

"Hey, only a broken nose, jaw, and left shoulder bone, but beyond many more bruises I feel pretty fine."

"Not quite sure how Dumbledoor made it out of there," Hormone went on, "seeing as though we took his platform. But well I guess he found a way regardless because here you both are, obviously."

Harry said thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledoor. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. That's why he said he stood on the sidelines. I didn't notice him there, and it didn't seem like Quirrell or Voldé — sorry, you know the guy, saw him come in either. I reckon he could have been invisible, for safety. Come to think of it, we should have had the ring on the whole time! Could have jumped Quirrell without him knowing when I first caught up, that was stupid…"

"I still say Dumbledoor's off his rocker," said Ron confidently. "You could have been killed, and he nearly let you. But listen, since you're still alive and everything, you've got to be out of here by tomorrow for the end-of-year feast. If you think our feasts so far have been outlandish, you haven't seen nothing yet! The house points are all in and Slytherin won of course — you missed the last Quidditch match, we were slaughtered by Viacom — but at least we can eat our sorrows away with all that food."

At that instant, Madam Pompom interrupted.

"Visiting hours are over dears, out now, OUT!" she said forcefully.

After a restless night's sleep, Harry felt approximately back to normal.

"I want to go to the feast," he told Madam Pompom as she changed his bedpan. "Can I?"

"You'll have to take it up with Professor Dumbledoor," she said stiffly. "It is my professional opinion that feasts are risky business for sick little boys. Oh, and you have another visitor."

"Hmm?" said Harry. "Who is it?"

Hagrid shimmied through the door as Harry chatted. As usual when Hagrid was on wooden floors, the whole ground sagged worryingly around him. He sat down next to Harry, took one look at him, gave a sigh and left.

"Odd," Harry said aloud to himself.

Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night, without receiving permission. He had been held up by Madam Pompom tidying up the place and humming a merry tune. By the time Harry managed to give her the slip, the Great Hall was already full with happy students ready to get out of there for the summer. It was festooned in the Slytherin colors of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's domination of the house cup for the tenth year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin kitty cat concealed the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush, and he felt what seemed like a million eyeballs on him. He slithered into a seat between Ron and Hormone at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that everyone was staring at him.

Dumbledoor arrived moments later and broke the awkward silence.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledoor said cheerfully. "And another year closer to death. But oh boy what a year it has been! I know you ungratefulls will try to forget everything you've been taught come summer, so I won't even bother with any old speech about how much more knowledgeable you've become this term…

"Now then, as my secretary has informed me, the house cup has yet to be awarded, and the points are as thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with negative nine hundred and twelve points; in third, those Hufferpuffers, with three hundred and fifty-two points; Viacom has a respectable four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin tops you all with four hundred and seventy-two."

A thunderous applause and stomping of feet broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table and looked like an idiot.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledoor. "However, hot new happenings must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' went quite but still had huge smiles on their faces.

"Ahem," said Dumbledoor. "I have a few eleventh-hour point adjustments dish out. Let me think. Yes…

"Firstly — to Mr. Ronald Weasley…"

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

"… for the worst-played game of Dejarik Hogwarts has seen in many years, I take away ten points from Gryffindor house."

Slytherin cheers erupted once more and nearly brought down the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver.

Soon there was silence again, Ron slid under the table in shame.

"Second — to Miss Hormone Granger… for the use of school-learned knowledge applied to practical, real world applications in the heat of the moment, I award Gryffindor house five points."

Hormone gave a faint smile. A handful of Gryffindors gave unenthusiastic claps.

Dumbledoor went on, "Hardcastle, Hardcastle McCormick. Where are you? Ah, you are relieved of your duty as second-in-command-headmistress for failure to take corrective action when a threat against the school was brought to your attention. I am disappointed in that you did not take such a thing seriously. You may remain on staff but will take an eighteen percent cut in pay."

Professor Hardcastle McCormick gave an annoyed look. There was moderate cheering amongst the students.

"And now the moment we've all been waiting for — to the famous Mr. Harry 'Superfly' Potter…" said Dumbledoor. The room went deadly quiet. "… for breaking numerous school rules and ignoring direct orders from his professors, I nonetheless award the Gryffindor house TEN MILLION POINTS!"

A nuclear blast exploded from all house tables besides Slytherin. Many of the windows along the walls shattered from the noise and several students would pay Madam Pompom one last visit later for popped eardrums. Some did have to stop and think for a bit while they added it all up but were soon yelling themselves hoarse too when they realized what it meant.

Dumbledoor raised his hand.

"Which means," Dumbledoor called over the storm of applause, "we must have an adjustment of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the Slytherin kitty cat morphed into a towering Gryffindor elephant. Butterbeer coupons appeared in each of the Gryffindor's hands. Snape was shaking his head, looking at the ground but suddenly glanced up and locked eyes with Harry's and Harry knew at once by his glare that Snape would remain his mortal enemy. Next year, Harry thought, next year it will be Snape who he defeats.

It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or that one time he found himself in a closet with that fifth year girl… he would never, ever forget tonight. They all indulged themselves in food and drink like never before, more so then any other feast throughout the year. Harry alone devoured so much food he wouldn't be hungry all summer and really put on the pounds by the next morning.

Harry had fully forgotten that the examination results were still to come, but come they came. To his immense surprise, he had gotten good marks in all of his classes; he suspected some special adjustments had been made because there was no way he passed Chronicle of Magic, that he was sure of. Ron however, was not so fortunate. He got a nasty note with his results saying he would have to repeat two courses next year. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you can't have everything in life. To which Harry replied "Well maybe you can't." Hormone, of course, had the best grades of the first years and wouldn't let them hear the end of it.

And all of a sudden after lunch that day, their wardrobes were empty and their trunks were packed. Ron's pet rat Scabbers, which crashed out of the train window on their way to the school oh so long ago, was found wheezing its way up the Gryffindor steps towards the boy's dormitory after being missing the entire year. Notes were handed out to all students; some welcoming them back for next year with key dates while others received a pink slip letting them know they had been cut. Before they knew it, they were all boarding the Hogwarts Express facing the opposite direction in which it had arrived many moons ago. Soon they left with a toot and began schmoozing and sniggering with each other one last time as the countryside became trashier and dilapidated; pulling off their wizard robes and changing into jeans and t-shirts without any regard for who saw what; and finally after what seemed like a complete blur to Harry, pulled into platform _**e**_ at King's Cross Station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. Neville was one of the first off the train to get his many trunks but crashed his cart just before the magical doorway, clothes and things flying everywhere blocking the exit. By the time the area was cleared, many of the students were so impatient waiting to get through that they all started walking out in bunches. They began to attract attention from bursting out of the solid wall all at once, alarming the Muggles. Officials from the Ministry of Magic were quick on the scene, however, to wipe the memory of any Muggle who saw too much.

"We must do a sleep over this summer," said Ron, "both of you — I'll send a pig."

"No need," said Harry, "You've told me quite enough about your family and would like to stay as far away from them as possible."

People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:

"Bye, Killa!"

"See you, P-Money!"

"Still famous," said Ron, slapping Harry on the back.

Harry sensed that Ron was angry at him for not taking up Ron's invite as that 'friendly' slap was just a bit too hard.

"That I am." Said Harry, smugly, and slapped Ron back just as hard if not harder.

He, Ron, and Hormone passed through the gateway together. "There he is, Mom, there he is, look! There! RIGHT THERE! Can you see? He's there! Look where I'm pointing! It's him! It's him! Can you believe it's him?! It's really really him!"

It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at Ron.

"Harry Potter! Thee Mr. Grande!" she squealed. "Look, Mom! I see —"

"Shut up, Ginny, and it's rude to point."

Mrs. Weasley groaned and smacked Ginny's hand down.

"Busy year?" she said.

"Very," said Harry. "Thanks for the legwarmers, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, them. You know I slaved day and night for weeks making them."

"Ron threw his in the fire," Harry spoke back without thinking.

"Ronald!"

She gave Ron a very intense look that was a cross between furious and annoyed. Ron just shrugged.

"Come on, boy, let's get out of here."

It was Uncle Vern, grabbing Harry's arm, still purple-faced, still heavily mustached, still as large as a whale though he did seem to gain a hefty amount of pounds, still looking furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying a pig in a cage in a station full of ordinary people.

"I see your new diet didn't' do you much good," said Harry.

"In a manner of speaking," said Uncle Vern coldly. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day." He began pushing people as he walked away.

"Hope you have a decent— er — holiday," said Hormone, looking befuddled at Uncle Vern, a bit shaken that anyone could be so unpleasant.

"Oh, I will, don't you worry your toes off," said Harry, and they were surprised at the massive grin that was spreading all over his face. "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Bubba this summer…"

"Yes they do, all legal guardians will get letters saying that we're not allowed to do magic. My parents already pigged me they got one."

The smile was wiped off Harry's face.

And then, the end.

Harry Potter will return in

"Harry Potter and the Chamber Pot of Mysteries"


End file.
